


Rough Skies

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Violence, character spoilers for series 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur are pilots working for the same VIP charter jet airline, Druid. They're good at what they do, though, coming from vastly different backgrounds, they hate each other's guts. Or so they think until unforseen circumstances force them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> This was so kindly beta'd by Fleete and Drarryxlover. Big thank yous also go to Sinzh for the intial help shaping this up and to Amphigoury for post-fest aviation beta, which was sorely needed. (ii) Dear Alby_Mangroves, when I saw your prompts I decided I'd mash up these two: _they hate each other at first glance and slowly realize the strength of their mutual dislike actually masks serious attraction_ and _they're trapped together and have to communicate for the first time (forced together by circumstances beyond their control)._ I might have interpreted the latter part somewhat freely but I hope you'll like this all the same. Merry Holidays to you!
> 
> ii) Now there's art for this story thanks to the ever so lovely texasfandoodler! You can find it [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2438846)

It was the shortest day of the year. It was also the roughest one Merlin had experienced in a while. Even driving to work had been a challenge, the windscreen wipers creaking to overwork even over the Christmas music blaring off the radio, the fogged up windows not giving him a clue as to where the hell he was going, the chug of the engine complaining against the oil freezing its parts. And that was just layman knowledge. The kind of thing an old man looking out from his back garden window might say: 'Look, 'it's weather fit to raise the dead'.

But that kind of creeping sixth sense wasn't the only reason why Merlin now looked at the sky with awed dread.

Though he'd stayed grounded today he'd checked the specialised weather reports, a series of wind speed maps, and navaid charts just in case he was, after all, needed to pilot any aircraft. He was on call should any of their most prestigious clients need to move urgent freight quickly – it was what they specialised in, last minute premier service – so Merlin preferred to know what kind of weather conditions he'd be running into. Even if the odds of him doing so were slim.

Having had a look at the material, he had recoiled.

They were currently to the east of a low, south-east through north-east, and that alone was a guarantee for a bumpy ride. A very bumpy ride. The kind that made your teeth rattle about in your skull and your knuckles whiten around the yoke. 

Besides, it was a pouring wet day, clouds at two hundred feet, visibility low, and the wind was howling. Now that was just creepy, and not necessarily dangerous for pilots, especially for those manning the crew of an airliner, but Merlin felt glad he wasn't flying tonight.

He didn't fancy taking out light craft on a night such as this. With a cross wind to greet him, even taxing on the runway would be a fight against the elements. He could picture struggling against a head wind and being tossed back by it. Even with a runway switch and keeping the throttle easy once he was airborne, he wouldn't be looking forward to the experience.

Sighing, Merlin looked at the window and at he trails left by the battering rain on the pane.

The light flickered in and out for a second, the sound of the storm overtaking every other noise in the lull created by the momentary pause in the electricity flow.

Thankfully, power was zapped back on and the light bulb flared to life even more vigorously than before.

Merlin pulled the hem of his fleece jumper down and ambled over to the coffee machine, pushing buttons so he could get it to work. After some tinkering, the machine rumbled, a red light blinked and after a few moments an aromatic smell rose up to his nostrils. 

He was busy bringing his favourite mug to his lips, thunder rolling in the background, when Ruadan came bursting in. “Off your arse, Emrys,” he said. “We have an emergency and we're wanted at air traffic control.”

With a sigh, Merlin put the mug down on the counter, scalding liquid sloshing out and over his fingers. “Why, what?” Merlin asked, blowing on his hand to cool it, but Ruadan was already out of the staffroom. 

Merlin had to dash out and into the corridor to catch up with him and hear him say, “One of our pilots may have to go through assisted landing. I want a flying pilot there to help.”

Cold seeped through Merlin's bones. Many of the pilots at Druid were his friends. Freya most certainly was and so was Lancelot. Merlin knew what assisted landing meant and it wasn't good news. “Who is it?” he asked. “Who's flying in this weather and why did you send them out?”

Merlin knew he was probably risking his job saying that but he couldn't help himself.

As he thundered down the stairs, Ruadan said, “It's Pendragon. It was a cargo-delivery. We were offered a bonus if we made it before the holidays. He said he'd make it. That he's the best.”

“Of course,” Merlin muttered even as he tried to hurry down the steps without tripping. “He'd say that.”

Ruadan pushed open the service door. “He _is_ the best. You're new and you don't know that but the feats he's pulled are legendary.”

Merlin followed Ruadan to the Jeep parked down the side lane to Druid's headquarters. “Yeah, yeah,” Merlin said as he ducked his head to avoid being pelted by the rain. “His feats are epic, he was in the military, and a decorated fighter pilot. I've heard it all.”

Ruadan opened the Jeep's door and fixed his glare on Merlin. “Then you'll know that we don't have anyone as good as him.”

Merlin begged to differ. He knew he was a good pilot. A brilliant pilot. If they'd just let him show it. If only they'd just give him a chance. “I could give Sir Brag-a-lot a run for his money,” Merlin said. “And now we have to rescue him because he just had to go prove that he was good enough to beat a storm?” 

Pendragon had bragged about his prowess often enough; Merlin had heard him say that he was the best pilot Ruadan had ever hired and fighting fit to boot. Merlin hadn't been there for the whole of the speech – not invited – but could imagine how Pendragon had gone on after Merlin had left; could picture him in the staffroom as he, half-dressed after a long haul, bare chest showing a ripple of muscles, told tales of the good old days: i.e., when he'd served in the Third Squadron Royal Air Force Regiment. How he'd been a fighter pilot, how he'd seen actual fire during his service in Afghanistan, the girls on the Druid team sighing, the boys' eyes glinting with admiration and not a little envy at the exploits Arthur Pendragon recounted with such longing and bravado.

All the boys wanted to be him; all the girls wanted him. Merlin admitted some of the boys might have wanted in on that too, but the point wasn't that, the point was that none of them could see that Arthur was just one of them. That if he stopped bragging about his former team and showing off his chiselled chest, which wasn't so chiselled after all because there was the promise of a pot belly there, he'd be just another licensed pilot. Like them.

“He can still make it if we don't dilly dally,” said Ruadan, suiting action to words by folding himself into the driver's seat and startling Merlin out of his reverie. “Or do you want to see him dead to win your never-ending pissing contest?”

Merlin blanched. He shook his head 'no' and sat in the car. Ruadan pushed on the accelerator as soon as he had the clutch up. They followed the prescribed lanes but even so they were going fast, faster than they should in an airport compound. Mid-drive, Ruadan swerved against an oncoming loading vehicle, almost causing them to end up splattered against a hangar wall. If Ruadan hadn't braked in time the ambulance team would have picked them up with a spoon. “We won't be helping anyone if we're mincemeat,” Merlin said, with an eyebrow raised.

Ruadan grunted, slammed his hands against the steering wheel, and only after he'd cursed, did he start the Jeep again and reverse.

He drove more carefully the rest of the way, parking in the most haphazard spot before the air traffic control tower. Control Tower was a tall, rambling terminal. The air traffic control office sat on top of the tower, three flights of stairs up, and had in-built windows on all sides to afford controllers a three-hundred and sixty-degree view of the sky, runway, and overall airport facilities.

Officers were sitting at the radar displays, watching aircraft responses, monitoring flight paths, and talking to pilots. One officer in particular was talking rapidly into the mike attached to his pair of headphones. “Druid-one-five-niner-two, update us as to your position.”

Merlin could hear Arthur's voice as he relayed his coordinates, altitude, and speed. Then there was a crack of static and the words, “Luton Tower, Druid-one-five-niner-two, we got a problem." 

“Say request, one-five-niner-two.” There was no response from Arthur, only more background noise.

“Still having a problem?” the controller asked, probably to verify Arthur was still there.

“That's affirm,” Arthur's tinny voice came over the radio connection.

A second officer turned a monitor to show the localiser's projection of Arthur's plane. The control officer who'd been talking to Arthur nodded and started calculating a landing route.

Even with the controllers doing their best to establish contact with 1592, there were no additional communications from Arthur for two long and tense minutes. The tower officer looked to Merlin and Ruadan then tried contacting Arthur's Cargomaster again.

“One-five-niner-two,” said the officer. “I can see you. You're cleared for runway two-three-right.”

“That's fantastic, Control, but I seem to have a problem with my landing gear,” Arthur said into the radio.

“Okay, one-five-niner-two, I see your undercarriage isn't extended. I advise you to circle over two-three-right, then try approaching again.” 

"I can go out. Trying second approach."

Merlin watched both the radar and the sky for hints as to what was happening. He could see the Cargomaster and how it was struggling, gaining elevation again as Arthur attempted to reconfigure the landing. Merlin held his breath.

“You're correcting, Druid-one-five-niner two.”

Merlin almost relaxed but couldn't quite still for as long as they weren't sure Arthur was correcting properly.

Arthur meanwhile got ready to attempt a landing again. The landing gear itself seemed to be coming down in good time and Merlin was almost ready to breathe freely again when he saw it go up once more. Crap, Merlin thought.

“Try landing procedure again, one-five-niner-two,” the controller said, evidently thinking the same thing Merlin was.

This time the undercarriage seemed even more stuck than before.

Merlin turned to Ruadan. “He can't touch ground like that.”

“I know,” Ruadan said. “Suggestions, Emrys?”

Merlin thought about it while the situation grew tenser.

“Still failing to deploy undercarriage,” Arthur said, sounding alarmed but still in control; his was the voice of someone used to risk. Merlin also heard some panicked swearing from Arthur's copilot – who sounded like Elyan – but it came through as if from a distance, as though he was having problems with his headset.

Merlin grabbed a set of headphones for himself. “Arthur, you need to get the bloody undercarriage down,” he said. “Is that you, Emrys?” Arthur seemed to forget his agitation for a moment, his voice assuming the levels of cockiness he usually employed when addressing Merlin. “What are you doing there?”

“Been called in to help you,” Merlin said quickly.

Merlin heard Arthur's bark of laughter even as it was distorted over the radio. “As if, Emrys. As if. I've still got a thing or two to teach you.”

“Really?” Merlin said. “Have you cycled the gear lever?”

“Sorry,” said Arthur as though he was quite happy to prove that Merlin was wrong, “but the circuit breaker popped out.”

“Reset it, Arthur,” Merlin shouted. “Go reset it.”

“I have a low voltage light here, Emrys.” This time it did sound as though Arthur was trying to do what Merlin said. “I'm a bloody QWI. I know when things look bad.” 

The controller interfered. “He's got to either gain altitude or prepare for landing. I have an air corridor available for the next ten minutes.”

Merlin nodded, but responded to Arthur. He was the one needing to be convinced to see reason. “Yes, but you can't do loops on a fucking Cargomaster. Listen to me, I've flown cargo loads of times.” Maybe he'd done it working for his uncle's small company up in Scotland but his humble origins meant nothing. Merlin knew Cargomasters and knew them well. Probably better than Arthur, who, as their star pilot, was mostly assigned to piloting jets for the rich and famous. Merlin's low key position at Druid made him useful now. “Arthur, follow the emergency gear extension procedures.”

“I know how--” Merlin heard a noise the radio system wasn't supposed to make, then Arthur's voice delivering a series of curses. “Circuit breaker won't stay in.” 

Merlin clutched at his headphones, his fingers curling inwards. “Pull the lever down, Arthur, and try the pump handle. No matter how many times you try. Go hard on it.”

“Is that a line from porn, Emrys?” Arthur chuckled but the noises coming from his throat weren't really merry. “I can feel no pressure on the lever.”

“Arthur!” Merlin swore. “For God's sake go down on it even if you wrench it free. It's the only way.”

“I'm trying, you idiot, I'm trying!”

The communication was cut off. Merlin said, “Fuck, fuck, can you get him back on?”

More than one officer tried, manipulating the equipment to force it to yield a result. But nothing happened. Seeing as that was how it was and the importance of the moment, they all fell quiet.

Ruadan and Merlin rushed to the window, both with their noses up in the air as they squinted against the distance to focus on the Cargomaster.

It descended through a fog bank and continued below it. The wheels were down that Merlin could see, but they were wonky, to the point Merlin knew that there was something wrong with them even from this far and that even if his strategy had worked, everything might not be well.

Arthur made for runway two-three-right, as he'd been told, the plane wobbling as it neared the tarmac. For a few moments the wheels held, allowing the plane to land normally, but then they collapsed beneath the plane, down tail-low.

The Cargomaster slid on its belly down the runway for some hundred feet, then it jolted to the left, struck a taxiway light as it slid down the stretch of runway at its disposal, and spun around in the grass, to thankfully come at a halt.

Before Tower Control had had a chance to call an ambulance and paramedics, Ruadan and Merlin were already out in the open, hurrying towards runway two-three-right. At one point they were stopped, but Ruadan flashed his credentials as the owner of the plane and they were let through the area the emergency staff had already cordoned off.

They did so in time to see Arthur and his co-pilot, Elyan, make it down the plane's ladder. Some of the emergency personnel clapped at the happy resolution. 

Sporting a scratch on his neck, Arthur refused treatment at the hands of the paramedics and strutted over to Ruadan and Merlin, forking his aviators, Elyan staying behind to allow himself to get checked up on.

Arthur smirked. “The Cargomaster is a little worse for wear but all the goods are delivered, sir. Right before the holidays as the doctor ordered.”

Before Ruadan could answer Merlin stepped in. “You're really going with that?” Merlin said. “You nearly crashed a plane, killed yourself and your co-pilot and you have the audacity to pull that?”

“Pull what?” Arthur said, getting in his face and pushing his rather broad, muscular chest against Merlin's. “I landed that plane.”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, “because I told you how.”

“Come off it, Emrys,” Arthur said, his breath on Merlin's mouth. “Yeah, some of what you said helped but I landed that plane thanks to years of experience--”

Merlin scoffed.

“That had absolutely nothing to do with your newb advice.”

“I may be new, but I've just saved your arse and at least I'm doing what I want to do instead of pining after the RAF.”

Arthur took a step backwards, the result of a hard flinch, his eyebrows twitching, his upper lip doing an upwards jump as if Arthur had just been shocked by a powerful electrical current. “Well, at least I'm not a know-it-all newb who wings it all the time and was lucky enough to spit out one single piece of advice that made sense today while generally barfing rubbish.”

“Newb!” Merlin said. “This isn't even my first job.”

“As if flying small Dreamlifters for an air taxi company counts.”

“I got my required flying hours on those small Dreamlifters,” Merlin very nearly shouted. “I had to work for it and hard. Unlike some other people I know.”

Arthur charged forward again, “What are you implying?”

Merlin's nostrils flared. He'd have probably ranted on and on about the subject if Ruadan hadn't stepped between them, his eyes flashing, his chest out, and said, “Emrys, back to headquarters with you. Pendragon, go get yourself checked by paramedics or I won't clear you for further flights.”

Arthur winced, made to say something, thought better of it, hung his head and stamped back to the paramedics. Merlin watched him go with a small smile until Ruadan's glare made him back off to headquarters.

He was on duty for another couple of hours anyway. Not that he would be made to fly given the weather alerts they were starting to get and what had happened to Pendragon, but he wasn't done yet. Ruadan was right enforcing order and have his pilots stay on call. A little. At least Merlin could see the logic in that even though the emotions of the day had shaken him and he wished he could go home and relax.

That hope thwarted, Merlin made it back to the staffroom trying to clear his mind of all thoughts relating to Pendragon. In a bid to relax he made himself another coffee – caffeine could totally be a relaxant however maligned it was – and started working on his life insurance form. He'd postponed doing it for long enough and it was high time he completed it. He was clicking his pen on and off, a second mug of coffee placed squarely in front of him, when Sefa walked in. “Hey,” she said, “What are you doing?”

“Form filling,” Merlin said as Sefa took the chair opposite his. “I thought better late than never.”

“Is that the bonus life insurance form I forwarded to all pilots?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, ticking a box. “It is.”

“I thought you said you would think about it,” said Sefa, looking at her hands. Her attitude might have been casual but her tone wasn't. She was poking at the truth.

Merlin turned one of the form pages. “I've nothing better to do now. Seen the weather out there?”

“It's because of what happened to Arthur, isn't it?”

“Of course you’re another one of his groupies,” Merlin said in a gruff tone, forcing the words out of gritted teeth. He supposed Sefa was, just like everybody else, blindly worshipping Arthur as if he was the sun god or something. Just because he was blond and fit and had led a life worthy of an action film before being employed at Druid, he was liked by all and sundry, irrespective of how insensitive, conceited, and stupid he could be. In short Merlin bet she was.

Sefa put a hand on top of his, preventing him from writing. “You know I'm not.” She looked shyly up. “Why should I be?”

“Because you mentioned him,” Merlin said. “Like all those girls with his name on their lips.”

Sefa stopped him with a little smile. “I said what I said because I think Arthur's brush with death has upset you and made you think about the risks you take.”

“Arthur walked into that one all on his own,” said Merlin, “just to prove something to someone.”

“But you still see the dangers of flying for a living.”

“I love flying!”

Sefa let go of his hand. “I know you do. And I know you got scared for a moment there. But there's no need to worry. Things will always be fine with you, whatever happens, I'll make sure. I'm the boss' daughter.”

Merlin wanted to ask her how she could possibly know that nothing would ever happen to him but he refrained. “I'm sure you're right,” he said.

Sefa's smile broadened. It wasn't a full one because she rarely gave those, but it was there and Merlin liked to see it on her face. “Why don't you come down and join the others?” she said, “They're all celebrating the delivery. My father made a new client today.”

Merlin scrunched up his nose. It figured. Arthur got them a new client with his crazy stunt. Merlin got stomach ulcer. “They're celebrating the new contract or Arthur?” he asked less than kindly.

“The contract,” said Sefa with a shoulder shrug. “And Arthur too for having pulled the delivery off, but that's irrelevant because there's music and you're going to have fun.”

“I don't know, I--”

“Since you have to stay and finish your shift anyway, I thought we could use the time to do something nice, dance a little.” Merlin spared the staffroom a look. It was sad and empty, all grey walls, flying schedules pinned to the wall and the debris of previous occupation from the guys of the earlier shift present everywhere. “All right,” Merlin conceded. “Lead the way.”

They were having a full blown party downstairs. Seasonal tinsel decorations blended in with impromptu party streamers. Vivian was dancing to the rhythm of a dance song, as were the team's engineers. Euan and Carla were tangoing together. Ruadan was discussing something with one of the web masters publicizing the company while Arthur was chatting Sophia up, telling her about the emergency landing, while forgetting to mention Merlin's input.

Merlin stepped into the room, got Will, one of the sales reps, to give him a glass of Soda (Merlin was still technically on shift), and settled in a corner, drink in hand. Sefa took the place at his side.

The moment the two of them started chatting in a low tone, Arthur's head snapped up to him.

From then on Arthur's eyes wouldn't leave him and Merlin felt their challenge. He was sure that Arthur resented his presence and that he was trying to scowl Merlin out of the party. Most likely Arthur wanted him to cede the field so he could brag undaunted till kingdom come without any hint of correction from Merlin's side. But Merlin wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Lowering the glass from his lips, he said, “Sefa, would you like to have a spin around the room?”

Sefa wrung her hands, eyed the roomful, then quirked her lips at him. “Yeah, I guess I'd love to.”

Merlin wasn't that great of a dancer himself, but he wanted to show Arthur that he had as much of a right as anyone else to be there, rookie or not, so he had fun and danced to three songs at least until colour climbed to Sefa's cheeks and all nervousness seeped out of her.

Arthur's eyes were still following him, with Arthur startling out of conversations when Merlin and Sefa moved to take a chair, but Merlin didn't let himself be cowed or distracted. He and Sefa discussed this and that, how Ruadan was an exacting father but she felt she was only doing her duty sticking by him, how she was relieved at having closed a new contract, and how she was glad that Merlin had saved Arthur.

“He'll never acknowledge it,” Merlin said.

“I don't think it matters,” Sefa said in a thoughtful tone. “What matters is that the delivery was made and everyone's fine.”

“Are we really risking shutting down without new contracts?” Merlin asked when he realised what kind of emphasis she was putting on the success of the delivery.

Sefa paled. It was clear Merlin had touched a sore subject. He should have worried too – since his job was ont the line here – but he'd had his emotional high for today and couldn't summon the strength to do so. “Yeah, we are,” said Sefa. “But I didn't tell you that, all right? You didn't get it from me.”

Merlin was shaken and more by Sefa's tone and general sadness than by the risk of ending up on the dole. “Would it help if I made a few extra flights for free?” he asked. Ruadan had given him the first serious big break; if he could help, he would. Sefa's face relaxed, the tension in her muscles going. “Yes, it would. It would indeed. Thank you, Merlin. I'll slot you in for more flights.” A shadow crossed her face. “But don't tell my father I told you.”

Merlin put his hand on his heart. “I promise I won't.”

Merlin would have made more protestations if Elyan hadn't come over to loom over them.

“Hello, Merlin,” Elyan said.

Merlin looked up at Elyan and gave him a half wave. “Hello, glad to see you're okay.”

“Yes,” said Elyan, waving a glass of beer. “About that, thank you. Without you, we wouldn't have made it. The plane would have caught on fire. If the undercarriage hadn't come down...”

“It retracted though,” said Merlin, thinking about how Arthur had refused to acknowledge his help.

“It was down long enough to absorb the shock of impact,” Elyan said. “One of the reasons we did not end up burnt to a crisp.”

“I--”

“Let yourself be thanked, Merlin,” said Elyan. “You're vocal enough when Arthur is concerned.”

“Well, you're welcome then,” Merlin said, not knowing whether to be pleased or nettled at the mention of Arthur. “I most certainly didn't want anything bad to happen to you.”

And that's was honest a remark as any. Even if he didn't like Arthur he would have contributed anyway. Flying was life and death. They were all colleagues and there was a code. A code that said you helped if you could, no matter who was behind the controls.

Elyan accepted Merlin's words with a nod and a smile. He left to mingle with the rest of the party only when he was reassured that Merlin believed he was honest about his gratitude despite being Arthur's friend.

As for Merlin, he had another dance with Sefa, constructively avoided further quarrels with Arthur, and left just after his shift ended.  

****

 

Arthur took a look at his fridge's contents and turned up his nose at them. He opened a cupboard door and found an old bag of onion rings and two cans of beer. They would do.

Grabbing the crisps with one hand and the cans with the other, Arthur made it back to the lounge, where Elyan was waiting for him, feet on the coffee table.

Stepping over his legs, Arthur passed him one of the cans and sank next to him, eyes on the footie match.

Elyan opened his can with a flick of his thumb, the succeeding pop muted by the commentator's shouts. He drank a pull, resettled against the leather of the sofa and said, “I know I should probably not mention this, but why do you have it in for Merlin? I mean you could have thanked him.”

“He's new and I didn't want to fan his ego to monstrous proportions,” Arthur said. “It's not as if any of what he said was spun gold.”

“The undercarriage came down,” Elyan observed.

Arthur focused his gaze on the telly. “And then it climbed back up.”

“But--”

Arthur's head whipped round. “I know. You think I don't know? I get it, it was this close. Emrys helped. And of course Emrys is young and enthusiastic so people like him and will like him even more now that they think he saved us.” Arthur grunted. “I'm still not impressed.”

“I'm not saying you should like him too, Arthur,” Elyan said. “But he did us a good turn there. And I don't think his ego will get bigger. He was the first to point out that the undercarriage manoeuvre wasn't entirely successful.”

Arthur abruptly stood up, put the can down on the nearby table and his hands on his hips. “Oh, for God's sake, then we agree on something at least.”

Elyan didn't stop tracking his movements. “I just don't get why you're so harsh on him. You taught me a lot and I was as green as Merlin last year. Yet you weren't barking at me for the smallest mistakes like you do Merlin.”

Arthur flailed a hand about. “That's neither here nor there,” he said, plucking at a thread of his jogging bottoms. “I know you.”

“And you don't know Merlin.”

“I obviously don't know Merlin.”

“But you never got to know him.”

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. “It seems to me a lot of people got to know him fairly well, including the boss' daughter. So he's in no danger from me.” Arthur gave a pointed glare at the TV when he heard the commentator's voice announce that his team had just taken a goal. “So I guess he doesn't particularly need my help or guidance.”

Elyan still looked sceptical. “I did back when I started out--”

Elyan's further comments were silenced by the phone. Arthur was almost happy to go and get the call, not because he thought Elyan's wasn't generally worth listening to, but because he wasn’t sure he liked what his friend was saying right now. Yet when he did answer the phone he was less than enthused at hearing Sefa's voice. It could mean only one thing. He was confirmed in his suspicion when Sefa said, “I need you for a flight tomorrow.”

“I'm not on call,” said Arthur. “Tomorrow’s the twenty-third. I'm free till the twenty-seventh.” 

Sefa expelled a loud breath Arthur heard even over the phone. “I realise that, but it's another one of  _those_. We really need this contract. It's going to be quick. You just need to drop a business man somewhere. It's scheduled as medium haul.” Arthur scratched at his forehead, darted a look at the calendar hung close to his head, made a few calculations and decided not to stick to his previous decision. “You know I'm on board with helping avoid--”

“It's a 'yes' then,” Sefa said. “I can get your name down on the paperwork?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, “you can but only if Elyan's my co-pilot.”

There was some humming on Sefa's part. “I'd love to make you happy, but we owe Elyan so much overtime already. And Merlin's offered to help too. So I have Merlin down to fly with you.”

“Absolutely not,” said Arthur, imagining spending six hours stuck in the cockpit with Emrys of all people. “No way.”

“Arthur, he's an excellent pilot,” said Sefa. “You know my father wouldn't have hired him if he wasn't. We're struggling already. Don't make it more difficult than it need be.”

“Yeah, all right Emrys can fly a plane.” Arthur acknowledged. “But he's just so--” Arthur didn't finish that sentence because he had no specific definition that would fit Emrys. Or the reason why Emrys irked him so – his enthusiasm and youth and general attitude? That ‘the future is mine’ grin which made Arthur angry more often than not? He couldn't put his finger on why Merlin rubbed him the wrong way, he just knew he did. “So--”

“Arthur,” Sefa said nervously, “I wouldn't know what to do if you baulk on me. Or who I'd put in his place if you insist on saying no. Couldn't you just do it this once?”

That shout out to his professionalism, however unintended, made Arthur reconsider. “I-- All right, I'll be co-piloting with Emrys,” he said, shoulders sagging.

There was relief in Sefa's voice as she said, “Thank you. I'll make the new schedule official asap.”

“Before you do that could you at least tell me where we're flying to?”

Arthur still planned to visit his father and see his friends for Christmas.

“Um,” Sefa hedged. “I'm under a contractual obligation not to tell you.”

“What do you mean contractual obligation?” Arthur nearly shouted into the phone.

“Arthur,” said Sefa in a tone that suggested Arthur's outburst had scared her or made her very uncomfortable at the very least. "We're a VIP charter company. People sometimes book us to get conditions you wouldn't be granted from the big airlines. In this case our client requested we keep his destination secret till the day of departure.”

“But--”

“I told you what you needed to know,” said Sefa. “That it's a medium haul flight. You'll be piloting the XLS.”

Arthur scratched at his forehead. “Okay, so some rich idiot has decided I can't know where I'm flying him, whether I'm to make arrangements for a fuel stop, or how I'm to go about a system check-up. Brilliant!”

“Arthur, you'll have that info prior to take off,” Sefa said reasonably.

“Wow, that's a relief,” he spat out, rolling his eyes even though Sefa couldn't see him.

Sefa gave him a small laugh. “That's exactly what Merlin said.”

“Then I agree with him for once.”

“See, miracles do happen.”

“But no such miracle as you telling me where I'm going?”

Sefa's long suffering sigh was protracted. “No, I still can't tell you. VIP client confidentiality.”

“Well, then,” Arthur said, “There's nothing for me to do but to agree to the terms.” Arthur thought them shitty. He'd had to do many things in the name of client confidentiality, including overlooking drunkenness, allowing extra passengers on board (often in the shape of call-girls), and putting in extra mileage to pick up people or drop them impromptu, but these were rather shittier terms. He didn't say that because he wasn't talking to one of his mates, but the boss' daughter, yet he did allow himself some interior monologue type cursing.

“Arthur--” Sefa definitely sounded stressed out as she tried sounding him, “Are you still with me?”

Arthur said, “Yeah, no worries, I'll be there for you.”  
 

*****

 

The aircraft they were to pilot was an eight-seater Cessna XLS parked about forty yards away from the gate. The XLS was the top of the line in terms of comfort and elegance. And it wasn't the kind of beauty that was just for show. If you thought in terms of technical specs, and Merlin did, it was not a bad plane at all, sporting, as it did, a glass cockpit, a Primus avionics suite, and two PW545B engines with increased performance. It was the kind of aircraft that Merlin loved to fly.

Or rather he would have loved to fly it if this had been a day like any other.

Unfortunately the weather, which had been bad when Arthur had almost crashed the Cargomaster, had kept being horrible, and the man they'd have to chauffeur across Europe was a rather sanctimonious businessman who had insisted on some unorthodox contract conditions.

Like not telling them where they were going until two hours prior to take-off and that was just so they could calculate the route. Their client's name was Agravaine du Bois and he was, in Merlin's humble opinion, a git. His suit was so perfectly pressed even Merlin's uniform, generally pristine (and starched) seemed not to be as nicely cut as his, his smile was thin and looked rather fake, and his manners, while appropriate to the situation, still stood in need of improvement.

While Mr du Bois said nothing disrespectful to either Arthur or Merlin as they introduced themselves, he also made it clear that the both of them were at his service. Like some kind of turn of the century butlers, air butlers, but still. Oh, and he was patronising.

“I understand that the secrecy as to our route may have come as a surprise,” du Bois said, expelling a big gush of air and pasting on an unconvincing smile. “But I'm a successful businessman and as such I can't allow my competition to know about my moves in advance.” His smile stretched further though no teeth were shown. “You'll understand that the corporate world is rather cut-throat. But then again you're blessed enough not to live in such a world. Everything must be far easier for lads like you. Fly a plane into the horizon, a girl in every port of call, and some fun when on a stopover, and then back home.”

Merlin reminded himself that he didn't have to like each and every person they ferried across the sky. Instead he looked at the stretch of tarmac before the hangar and let Arthur officiate.

And Merlin had to give it to Pendragon; he looked as ticked off at being treated this way as Merlin did, his lips pushed together, his shoulders thrown back but not in his usual proud way, but rather in a stiff one, his hand opening and closing around the hilt of his umbrella as though he wanted to bash it over du Bois' head.

“Let me escort you, sir,” Arthur said stiffly, as he opened the umbrella and walked Mr du Bois to the plane's stairs. Once there du Bois was surrounded by the attentions of their two flight attendants, Euan and Carla, du Bois' own PA, a silent, stooped man who went by the name of Jonas, toddling after.

With du Bois safely in his seat, Merlin ducked directly into the cockpit and waited for Arthur to be done with the niceties. He took out the check-list to make sure everything was good for take-off. Humming under his breath, he made sure every item was working as it should. Compass alignment was fine. He ticked the box. Engine idle. Another tick. He performed engine run up tests and was about to do a systems check when Arthur clambered into the cockpit.

“That man,” he muttered under his breath, unbuttoning his uniform jacket and hanging it on a little peg, “is insufferable.” Merlin barely hid a twitch of a smile. “You can say that out loud.”

Arthur doffed his cap, slackened his tie to reveal a hint of neck, looped his headset around his neck, and settled into his seat. He gave Merlin the first smile he'd ever seen aimed his way. “Indeed,” he said, shaking his head. “Asked me if I could get him a coffee and if a tour of the cockpit was included, seeing as the price he was paying us to get taxied to St Petersburg was astronomic for such a short hop.”

“Glad if he calls St Petersburg a short hop,” Merlin said through his teeth. “And what did he think? That a private jet would be cheap?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose he didn't. He was just being obnoxious.” He then cleared his throat and got all professional again, which Merlin preferred to the 'taunting Merlin' shtick that he had going sometimes.

Since they were back to being all business, Merlin passed him his check-list.

“Radio and avionics?” Arthur asked.

“Set for departure” Merlin answered.

“Flight controls?”

“Check.”

“Instruments?”

“Normal operation,” said Merlin.

Arthur grinned at the check-list. “Landing gear, position lights and altimeter? We wouldn't want to mess with those this time, would we, Emrys?”

“Checked and set,” Merlin said. “And, no, we definitely wouldn't but you're with me this time so none of that's gonna happen. They finished their checks methodically and slowly, wanting to leave nothing to chance. Not after what had happened a scant two days ago. It would have felt like tempting fate, and that no pilot would do. When they were done, Arthur passed on their flight plan to Air Traffic Control, while Merlin rechecked everything, just to be on the safe side.

Control cleared them for Runway one-three.

With everything set, Arthur announced their imminent departure over the intercom system, giving details such as weather conditions (still awful but he used pilot code for that, which was 'we're going to have some rough weather ahead'), flight time and the altitude they would be flying at.

VIP passengers, Merlin had learnt, enjoyed being informed about these things far more than normal airline passengers, who, when the captain spoke, tended to drift off with their reading material in hand and mind their own business. VIP passengers instead wanted value for their money, which meant they wanted to be acquainted with the minutest details just because they could. That's why Arthur made his spiel longer than a commercial airline captain would. Besides, they seemed to have a punctilious passenger on board, who was already complaining about getting good value for his money, which meant they had better play it by the book. And more.

This seen to, they started the take-off operations. Flaps extended at a ten degrees angle, they taxied the plane onto the right runway via point AT. Lining up on the centreline, they started the take-off.

Once they were lined up, Arthur let Merlin take over while he spoke to ATC. They started rolling down the runway and when they got the 'all clear' Merlin increased the take off thrust, pulled back on the controls to allow for the nose to lift, which it did, added rudder to correct their position and then back pressure. 

Their airspeed was close to rotation speed now and they were off the ground, the tarmac getting more and more distant, a view that would never fail to make Merlin feel as light as a bird and as free as one.

“Luton Tower,” Arthur said, “Here Druid-three-one-six-zero, climbing to two thousand feet, over.”

A response came from control. “Druid-three-one-six-zero, verify AS at two thousand." 

Arthur confirmed that their altitude was correct as stated.

“Druid-three-one-six-zero, roger,” the controller ordered, “ascend to FL three-three-zero”.

“Roger, Luton,” said Arthur.

At two hundred knots Arthur ordered the last of the flaps raised. As a result the wing slats retracted and the plane was now streamlining, gaining altitude by the second.

Both Merlin and Arthur relaxed once they had brought the XLS to cruising altitude and speed. The weather conditions being better at the altitude they were at, they switched to automated control.

Arthur stretched in his seat, emitting a low grunt.

“So we have twelve more hours till the Christmas holidays,” Merlin said, used to having a bit of a chat with all the captains he flew with. He wasn't close to Arthur as he was to them but six hours silence sounded like a shitty prospect. “What are you planning to do once we're back?”

“Emrys, what makes you think we're friends?” Arthur asked in the most rhetorical of tones. “We're not friends.”

Merlin opened his mouth, shoulders rising. Failing to come up with an answer he decided to ignore Arthur's question and talk with Control instead. “Luton, here Druid-three-one-six-zero. Zero, five, zero, true.”

“Druid-three-one-six-zero. Zero, five, zero, true.”

Control checked right back with him. “Roger, Druid-three-one-six-zero.”

Merlin took off his headset and checked on their lateral navigation controls and their electronic alert warning system. Everything was fine.

Arthur said, “We're just to deliver that twat back there--” he tilted his head at the cockpit door --“to St Petersburg, refuel, have a nap, and then fly this thing back. No need to be communicative about it.”

“Enjoy your silent flight,” Merlin snapped as he checked the instruments one more time. He was saved from Arthur chewing him off, and given the high colour rising up his neck he was extremely cheesed off, by Euan knocking and then entering the cockpit.

“Our passenger is asking to use the sat phone. He's being insistent.”

“Tell him he's welcome,” said Arthur. “And that he can also use the internet. Maybe that way you can get him off your back.” Euan rolled his eyes. “I don't think it will be as easy as that, but I'll try.”

“Do,” Arthur said, hinting at a chuckle, friendly and relaxed towards Euan as he wasn't with Merlin. “There's a chance it'll work.” Arthur and Merlin had an hour of peace after that, errant sun rays streaming through the cockpit, the controls responding well enough considering the degree of turbulence they knew they would meet flying this far north in December.

Unfortunately the quiet times ended when there was another knock on the cockpit door. This time it wasn't Euan and neither was it Carla. No, apparently their passenger had put it in his head to come visit them even though distracting the pilots wasn't advised.

Mr du Bois peeped in and said, “I was wondering if you could show me how this plane works.”

“Not as such,” said Arthur diplomatically. “It's against Druid protocol and half an hour would get you nowhere anyway.”

“Plane engineering is complicated,” Merlin agreed in the hopes of getting rid of du Bois. “Very much so. Not worth bothering with.”

Mr du Bois stepped further into the cockpit, his hand on the back of Merlin's seat where his company jacket hung. “On the contrary,” he said. “I'm interested in my safety and security.”

Merlin didn't tell du Bois that his knowing would change very little if something were to happen. Because that wasn't the image a pilot wanted to project. It went against every rule. And it would have been rude. Not knowing what to do in the specific circumstances he just sent Arthur a look to see what he would do.

Arthur said, “My co-pilot will happily explain then.”

Merlin shot Arthur a glare, turned to Mr du Bois, and with a deliberately fake smile started to illustrate. “This is the EWD,” he said tiredly, tapping at it with his nail. “Or Engine and Warning Display.”

Merlin hoped that was enough to satisfy du Bois, but it didn't seem to be, for du Bois asked. “And what does this EWD do?” Arthur's lips curved up as he took the yoke to look busy. The bastard didn't need to. Automated pilot was on. He was just leaving it to Merlin to deal with the annoying client. “Display things?” Merlin said, his annoyance making his voice higher.

Du Bois nodded sagely. “And what is this?”

“The centre panel,” Merlin said, firing more descriptions quickly off. “It shows parameters for engine pressure ratio; that's EPR, high pressure compressor rotor speed, and that's the EGT monitor.”

Du Bois squinted. “I see,” he said, clearly not having got the point at all judging by his puckered brow. “So if any of this starts to misbehave?”

“There are procedures,” said Arthur, “to counter all technical problems.”

Du Bois didn't seem convinced, less so than when he'd come in, as if all that sea of technology he didn't understand had made him less confident about flying. This gave him an idea.

Finally thinking of a way to get rid of du Bois, Merlin stood up to fish their Safety Instruction Manual out of the side console. “I think reading this will clear all your doubts.”

“I-- Thank you,” said Mr du Bois, turning the heavy volume in his hands. “I'm sure it will. Always been quick to learn after all or I wouldn't be where I am.” Still manipulating the book, du Bois retreated with a pale smile and a few more thanks.

When the cockpit door closed behind him, Arthur hooted with laughter. “It will take him a while to get through that. Maybe we'll have a quiet flight. Well, what remains of it.”

For the next three hours, they busied themselves with the usual routine, giving position reports to ATC, monitoring the fuel log, making sure that the fuel burn was actually tallying with the flight plan, and verifying that the flight management computer had stuck to the flight plan they had programmed in.

Arthur checked the en route NOTAMs while Merlin put in some paperwork and did some studying of the latest tech upgrades. The weather worsened but they could still cope without disengaging the automated pilot. Carla came with tea and sandwiches and even Arthur got a little more chatty than before. Everything was going to schedule and Merlin, having done a gross error check, was about to whip out his Sudoko puzzle book, when the plane's warning systems lit up.

“What?” said Arthur. “What the hell, everything was fine a moment ago.”

Merlin put his paperwork aside and had a look at the control panel himself. “The EPR is fluctuating like mad.”

Arthur stiffened. “First engine's stalling.”

Merlin could do nothing but agree once he went over the readings. By that time he had a new set of lights had started flashing too. “EGT's high, too. Arthur, I think... I think....”

“Check the sensors,” Arthur said brusquely, jaw locking.

Merlin did. “We may have an engine fire,” Merlin said, hands getting damp. It wasn't the first time that this had happened in Merlin's career but it was always unnerving. It stayed so even though they'd been trained to face every possible scenario. “Fire procedure's been triggered.”

“Shut down the engine, Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin followed the procedure and isolated the engine. “Engine Fire Procedure done,” he said and like that the fuel supply to the engine was cut off and the fire extinguisher armed. With one engine short, the XLS' speed was drastically reduced and the plane descended to a lower altitude, him and Arthur having to kill the AP system to work with the manual controls, all initial parameters having shifted.

Arthur said, “All right, I'll warn ATC.”

But before he could do any such thing they heard a loud bang and saw the engine's inlet burst into flame. “We're having a compressor surge,” Merlin said, thinking fast as to what the symptoms indicated. Thinking that the bad weather had caused this started to seem far-fetched. “Two may go as well.”

“I know, Merlin,” said Arthur, speedily acting on the throttle. “I know.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “I'm reducing the power lever and pushing it back up again but I've still got the same crazy readings. Something's happened.”

And it was still happening. Engine two was positively vibrating, causing the fuselage to shake.

Arthur nodded his head, hands on the yoke. For a minute he was silent, eyes reduced to slits, frown lines on his forehead. At last he said, “Okay, let's unload.”

“I'm reducing the pressure ratio across the compressor,” Merlin said. “Maybe if we get some airflow, two won't fail.”

“Okay, seems reasonable,” Arthur told him, hands tightening around the commands. “We're not losing the other engine. We're just not.”

“I'd like to have your confidence right now,” Merlin said, directing the throttle to behave so they wouldn't lose Two as well as One. “But oil pressure is going down.”

“Christ,” said Arthur. “All right, Two is most definitely going. The fire in One must have caused a surge in Two.”

“Low,” said Merlin, noting they were losing even more altitude, the plane trembling as it entered a bank of clouds. “I hadn't guessed.”

“Everything was fine before,” Arthur said. “I just don't understand. It's not the weather. We weren't hit by stray lightning. I just don't understand--”

While the plane rattled and shook, Merlin got busy rechecking the engine operation console, his eyes trained on the gauges and alarms indicating fuel levels, ignition function and air flow. He magneto-switched the ignition, hoping for the best, even so, pressure within the cockpit and back in the cabin was falling.

Merlin's ears were popping like mad. It wasn't comforting in the least.

“Merlin,” Arthur was saying, “I'm going to mayday ATC for good this time but that engine is going to go. We're going to have to glide land.” 

“Glide land?” Merlin said, perhaps too loudly, the invective directed more at his luck than Arthur. “Glide land! Fucking fantastic.”

“As I mayday,” said Arthur, knuckles white around the yoke, “I want you to calculate our glide ratio without engine thrust.”

Merlin wasn't sure they could survive a landing without engines but didn't say so. They both knew the odds. They'd both been trained to know them. Planes didn't just drop and crash the moment the engines were out. They'd fly on for a long while, the wings still getting lift. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was landing. Whatever people might think engines weren't necessary for gliding but they did help correct the speed of the approach. With no thrust, they would get only one chance to approach right. Without engines they could afford no mistakes, no coming in too shallowly and adding thrust to adjust, and no circling round while on the look-out for a second try at landing. They'd simply have no power to do that. That was what the factor they had to worry about.

Trying not to dwell on that, Merlin tore a sheet away from one of their manuals and started furiously scribbling calculations. As he did so, the plane dipped and rolled with the sudden drop, startling downwards. The fuselage shook as the wind whipped at it and Merlin felt himself being rocked forward in his seat.

Arthur meanwhile was busy, mayday-ing, saying, “Archangel Tower, here Druid three-one-six-zero.” 

The control tower was blissfully quick to respond: “Druid-three-one-six-zero, this is Archangel radar, go ahead!

As Merlin churned numbers on the page, Arthur heatedly said, “Mayday! Mayday! May Day! Druid-three-one-six-zero, we have dual engine failure!” 

The controller sounded way less calm when their connection wavered: “Druid-three-one-six-zero, read me?”

As their second engine failed them completely, Arthur gritted out, “I read you five by five! Dual engine failure! Negative response from throttle! We'll have to emergency land.” 

He turned to Merlin rather sharply. “How far can we get without engines?”

Merlin finished his calculations right then, “Tonnage considered we have a glide ratio of fifteen to one. That's roughly... We can cover ninety kilometres in thirty minutes.”

Arthur nodded, not even asking him if he was sure. He repeated the information Merlin had given him and was trying to relay their current coordinates when they heard shouting from the back of the plane.

“Archangel Tower,” Arthur was calling. “Druid-three-one-six-zero, zero-two-two, position. Five-nine north, four zero west at zero-five, zero-four. Flight level two eight zero. 320 knots and losing speed. Over.”

Out of the cockpit Euan was saying agitatedly, “You can't go in there, sir. That's not allowed.”

“Not allowed?” du Bois' voice was thunderous. “Not allowed. The oxygen masks came down. We're clearly crashing. I want to have a word with the captain.”

“The captain is particularly busy at this moment,” said Euan. “Now go back. It's for your safety, sir.”

“This plane is crashing because you couldn't keep the destination to yourself, evidently,” Agravaine du Bois shouted. “My safety my arse when you didn't see to it in the first place!”

“You can't go in there,” said Euan. Merlin heard the sounds of a scuffle and then the door was opening and du Bois was barging into the cockpit. “I demand to know what's happening!”

Merlin was too busy with the control panel to turn around but he could hear the indignation in Mr du Bois' voice as he continued rattling off insults. His words came just as an alarm flared.

Merlin and Arthur tried to select the right speed to get them closest to a landing spot that would give them a chance for survival but this didn’t seem to matter to du Bois, who insulted their intelligence, said they'd violated an industrial secret and generally promised they would pay for their incompetence. “You'll see. You don't know who you're dealing with.”

Arthur grunted a contained but still angry, “Euan, I authorise you to deck him and when you're done strap yourself to a seat and tell Carla to do the same.”

As Mr du Bois spluttered his indignation, trying to grab a hold of Merlin – or perhaps the controls – Euan obeyed, punching their passenger right in the face and stunning him enough to manhandle him back out of the cockpit. “Our lives are in your hands now,” Euan told them, giving them a panicked glance, before he went to secure himself to a seat.

Merlin felt the weight of that with everything he had, his heart crushed under the responsibility. It felt hard to breathe, knowing that these people's lives were in his hands. Even though he was close to a meltdown himself, his brain continued coming up with plan upon plan to get them out of this in one piece. “If we control the crash we can make it,” Merlin said, firing more words per minute than he ever had. “Impact increases as the square of the speed, right?” he went on, wanting Arthur with him on this. “So let's say we're at fifty knots. We know the cockpit will stay undamaged at nine-Gs, so we need to keep up a forty-five knots speed and hope for a nine feet decelaration ratio.”

Arthur emitted a low grunt. “Merlin, leave off the maths and do something for me.”

Merlin looked sideways at Arthur. “Yeah?”

“I want you to strap yourself up.”

“I can do it later,” said Merlin fighting with yoke and controls. 

“Merlin, I want you to do as I say.”

“I can help till the very last moment,” Merlin said.

Arthur nodded tightly, giving him an odd concerned look out of the corner of his eyes.

They covered some ten more kilometres like that.

At last, with Merlin controlling the descent in forty degree banks, and setting the flaps at top arc, Arthur rose from his seat to get the rib shield Druid furnished their pilots. He then knelt by Merlin's deck seat and tried to manhandle Merlin into it. “I'm trying to keep us at the right angle, Arthur,” Merlin said tightly.

Arthur huffed noisily, hands quick on the fastenings. When he had them loosened he put one hand on Merlin's neck, just above the collar of his white service shirt, a shock of warmth to Merlin's system, and said, “Right now Euan and Carla are strapping up that idiot du Bois and seeing to themselves as I told them to. You're my responsibility just as they are. It's worse because we're in the cockpit and if we go nose down... I want you to put this on now. We'll level the plane once we're belted up.”

Arthur's mouth pursed and his eyebrows drew together in a concerned frown when he said those words, his eyes large and soft for once, his palm still wrapped around Merlin's neck.

Merlin wet his lips, heart thundering painfully in his chest. “If we hit the right angle nobody need die.”

“I don't need a hero right now, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I need to know my co-pilot is safe to land this thing. All right?”

Merlin nodded, letting go of the controls. Arthur strapped him up himself, tightening the fastening, and then doing up his shoulder harness, extending the strap out of the seat cut out and tightening the clasp around Merlin's waist. “There,” he said, “You're all set.”

“Then do yourself,” said Merlin, taking control of the plane back. Arthur wore his rib-shield and locked his shoulder harness up. When he was done, he took the yoke, saying, “All right, let's glide land this thing.”

However right at that moment, they lost flaps, brakes and spoilers. “Hydraulic power's out,” Merlin announced, pulling the throttle to idle and putting the carburettor heat on. Arthur turned on the ram air turbine to get enough power to keep the most critical sensors and instruments going.

“Hydraulics back in,” Merlin said. They might be motor-less but at least they had rudder and flaps back.

“Okay,” said Arthur, “We're doing it. Descending with no thrust.”

Merlin breathed in and flexed his fingers around the controls. “We have to reduce speed.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “I want you to be with me on this. I'm going to slip.” 

Merlin saw how that was going to get them to slow down into a better glide speed. “I'll be preparing for it,” he said even while knowing that nothing ever would. It was a mad manoeuvre, one that would better succeed on an F-14 and he'd never done anything like that ever. But even so he trusted Arthur. This was what Arthur was good at. And Merlin believed him capable of pulling it off. This one thing that might save them, because Arthur might brag often, but he had been a fighter pilot. Listening to Arthur, Merlin changed the configuration to dirty. 

“Glide slope!” the cockpit's warning system announced, Merlin wishing it'd shut up.

Arthur shoved forward on the yoke to get a null angle of attack. He continued the zero-G pushover until the yoke shook in their hands. Then he raised the nose, trimming for the best possible glide, while Merlin rolled in some left rudder trim. “We're going down at six-hundred metres per minute,” Arthur said, before steering the plane through three-sixty degree turns.

If Merlin hadn't been a tested pilot, he'd probably started feeling queasy by now, they kept turning as if on a roller-coaster, sliding in their seats even though strapped to them, but all his reactions were reduced to intense sweating and a climbing heart-rate, solicited by the knowledge that the plane was on its final descent.

He still had hope they'd make it through this madness – his teeth gritted as Arthur pushed them into another rotation – but was deeply aware that not everything was as it should be. The calculations made off the top of his head confirmed one thing. “We're going faster than we should.”

“I know, Merlin,” Arthur said, “I know.”

They were plunging faster than Merlin liked, the plane shaking under them. The thing was simply not meant to function like this, was not built for this kind of manoeuvre, a metallic pre-recorded voice concurring and loudly complaining about their 'Sink rate!'. Merlin pulled the yoke towards him but that served nothing. “Arthur--”  
“Release the landing gear lock, Merlin,” Arthur said tightly.

Merlin unlocked the gear. “And done,” he said, with a very small smile, his hands cooperating even while his brain was going into overdrive with both calculations and worst case scenarios. He'd been flying long enough to know what this could build up to.

“Terrain. Terrain.” The blasted warning system again. “Too low – terrain.”

As if Merlin didn't know. His ribcage shook on an inhale, horrible images flashing before his eyes, but he made sure he was focusing on what was happening now, on their spiralling down in a way that would have told even the uninitiated that they were basically screwed, rather than on what was about to pass. “I don't need to tell you the banking angle is all wrong,” Merlin said.

“No, Merlin,” said Arthur, banking further by rotating the yoke left. “Though apparently you're the number genius. I don't know many pilots who'd know this stuff the way you do.”

“You saying nice things to me? That means we're dying,” Merlin said, unable to ignore the backhanded compliment even while shallow turning to correct the angle, true airspeed numbers floating in his brain. “So now what?”

As Merlin's ears popped to the point he could barely hear, Arthur said, “You protect yourself and fuck minimum sink and best glide.”

“All right,” said Merlin. There was too little room for adjustments anyway. “Arthur... good luck.”

“Why, thank you, Merlin, I think I'm touched,” Arthur said, then laying off the sarcasm he added, “I see a sizeable clearing, what do you think?”

“I think we make for it.”

They stretched their glide, which was at best a controlled, engine-less descent at this point, while keeping airspeed as level as they could. The nose of the plane dropped, the alarm system suggesting they pull up (no, but really), Merlin trimming to relieve pressure. As Arthur held pressure against the yoke, Merlin continued working on the trim wheel. “I've never loved my slats so much,” Merlin said, as he and Arthur caused the plane's nose to flare so they could try and attempt a normal landing with the back wheels hitting first.

When they were about to hit land anyway, Arthur gave him a tight look. “I want you to brace, Merlin,” he said. “Leave the fucking controls and brace!”

Merlin did, shielding his head with an arm as the plane groaned and crash landed.

“Don't think,” the alarm system chirped and that was the last thing Merlin heard, bloody plane.

****

Everything hurt. That was Arthur's first conscious thought. His ribs flared with pain. His breaths were deep and raspy as he hungered for breath. His head thundered in a hammering, insistent pulse, shocks of colour flaring behind his eyelids. One of his thighs was torn by cramps and his mouth was clamped shut, too.

Arthur blinked open his eyes. He was in the cockpit, its glass cracked and shattered in places, and still strapped to his seat. Rivulets of sweat and a sticky liquid ran down the side of his face and dripped slowly onto his collar.

Arthur touched his fingers to the spot that bothered him the most and they came away bloody. Still, however slow and sluggish he felt, he didn't think he was too badly injured. He could move his upper body, and there was no agonising pain anywhere. The other time-- That other time it had been entirely different.

_Flames licking at the cockpit, orange flickers giving out immense heat. Ramping up around him. And the pain in his side, the crippling pain that had made him want to scream his lungs out even while he told himself he'd been trained to stay calm._

Flashes of that event threatened to make him dry heave even now although he was grounded enough to know that now wasn't then and that the two situations were entirely different.

He wasn't severely wounded and though he felt extremely dizzy, head light as a kite, he was fine. Or as fine as one could be in such a bind. God, he'd bloody crashed his plane. His plane.

He turned sharply, struggling to undo his shoulder harness as he strove to check on Merlin, who was slumped over his seat, motionless. As his stomach went out from under him at the thought he'd killed Merlin, Arthur tugged violently on the harness release mechanism, finding it was jammed. 

Furiously, he ripped at the shoulder fit but couldn't loosen it. Since he couldn't get the bloody thing to work normally, he pulled the emergency handle, but still couldn't push free from his seat. 

Gathering his strength, he gave it one final wrench and the harness did rip off the seat. 

As soon as he was free he crouched by Merlin's seat, opening his collar to touch his neck and establish whether he was alive. He'd received first aid training both at Druid and during his military days, but even so it was difficult to stop his hands from trembling enough to be able to actually check. This was a human being. Someone he knew. Not a dummy. Not a volunteer pretending to be injured for the sake of study course. 

This was bloody Merlin Emrys, who was definitely too young to die. Fighter pilots were one thing. They'd enrolled and knew the drill, that there could be danger on the horizon for them. Part and parcel of what RAF officers did. But Merlin, Merlin flew commercial. Why couldn't he get a pulse? 

He needed to. Arthur stopped his insistent searching, breathed in and out, slackened Merlin's black tie, and then went for the carotid, placing his fingers in the hollow between the windpipe and muscle.

That's when he felt it, the steady thrumming of Merlin's heart. Arthur's muscles uncoiled. 

The next step was making sure Merlin wasn't gravely wounded. But for a cut on his shoulder from where glass had rained down on him, Arthur didn't detect any open wounds. That didn't mean though that Merlin wasn't otherwise injured. He could be sporting broken bones or internal trauma.

If Arthur were to do this by the book, he'd have to leave Merlin where he was and wait for rescue. But he couldn't leave him there. 

Before crashing they'd still been carrying fuel and they were at risk of an explosion. He turned off all switches, but even so, staying there wasn't safe. He had reason to know. Besides, all the creaking noises the Cessna was making weren't good news. It could be its frame groaning before settling into the ground or worse, the fire in the engine spreading.

“Come on, Merlin, wake up,” Arthur said, shaking his shoulder. “We've got to check on crew and passengers and get out of here.”

Merlin groaned, his eyelids flickered, and then his shoulder twitched. 

To get more of a response, Arthur said, “If a spark comes in contact with the fuel we're charred meat, come on, Merlin.”

Merlin made another small noise; he frowned and finally opened his eyes. Slowly, he righted himself in his seat. A number of cuts on the side of his neck became visible as he turned. He also cradled his wrist as though there was something wrong with it.

Arthur started fiddling with Merlin's harness to get him out of it. All the while he talked. “Merlin, we've got to get out.”

Arthur could see that Merlin was recovering more than just consciousness. He now seemed to have connected the dots and to know where he was and what had happened.

“Go check on the passengers,” Merlin said, as he tried to take over from Arthur when it came to freeing himself from the harness. His wrist hanging limp, he could only operate one-handed. “I'll get by.”

Thumps rocked the fuselage. “I don’t think you can,” Arthur said, helping Merlin. “I'm not leaving you behind.”

Hands still busy, Merlin huffed a laugh that was more a sob than anything else. “I can't,” he said. “I can't open it.”

Arthur gave the harness fastening a ferocious tug and like his own, it came undone. Just in time, for the moment Merlin was freed, a rumbling sound echoed through the plane. 

“It's coming from the back,” said Merlin, looking horrified in the direction the noise had come from. He pushed himself up so that he was in an upright position.

“Engines,” said Arthur, “There must be a leak, a fire, something.” Even knowing this, he made for the cockpit door, leaning against it when he found it jammed. “I can't get it to open,” Arthur said, shouldering it.

“I'll help you,” Merlin said.

“You're not okay,” said Arthur, attacking the door again. Slamming his body against it hurt and the door didn't yield.

“As I see it I have no choice,” Merlin said, kicking at the door. 

Arthur joined him and under their joint barrage the door gave.

What they saw rooted them to the spot. The plane was broken in two halves, just off the trailing edge of the wing. The tail had also detached itself from the rest. Stuff that had been kept in the overhead lockers or that was wedged to the floor had come loose and had flown around the plane. There was a sad mess of broken seats and loose baggage that spoke of tragedy like little else. The central section of the fuselage was smashed beyond recognition, twisted and bent where the force of the impact had made itself known.

Three bodies were strewn across the aisle; pieces of rent fuselage had ploughed into them as if their bodies were butter. Arthur recognised Euan and Carla as well as du Bois' PA among their number. They were clearly dead, eyes glazed and unseeing, bodies displaying wounds nobody could survive.

“Where's du Bois?” asked Merlin, skidding down the inclined floor surface to go look for their missing passenger.

Arthur followed him, trying to bypass the corpses so his last memories of his colleagues wouldn't amount to broken bodies and lacerated skin. He went after Merlin, his own shoes slipping on the vertical expanse of flooring like Merlin's had done. He saw Merlin go to his knees among shards of metal and glass, which crunched under his weight. They were probably cutting him but Arthur immediately saw why he had done it.

Prying back a metal sheet, Merlin uncovered Mr du Bois' body. The moment Merlin did Arthur saw du Bois' chest move. 

“He's alive!” Arthur said, surprised that was the case. Arthur hurried over while Merlin was checking du Bois for his pulse. “It's sluggish and weak,” he said.

Arthur had to admit, du Bois didn't look as though he could make it. There was blood in his mouth and trickling down his chin; his face was ashen. There weren't any other injuries that he could see but that meant nothing. He could be suffering from any manner of internal injuries. Haemorrhage was a definite possibility. And it could have had time enough to wreak havoc with du Bois' system, sending him into shock. 

Arthur didn't even know how much time had passed between the crash and the moment he and Merlin had regained consciousness, but suspected that had been long enough to make help nearly impossible. Even so there had to be something they could do. “Can we move him out of the wreckage?” Arthur asked. 

First aid courses only got you so far. 

“I don't think so. We could be doing more damage than good,” Merlin said. “Look, he's trying to say something.”

Arthur crawled forwards in time to hear the few rasped words du Bois was tiredly articulating. “They did it. Odi--” du Bois spat blood, heaved in a belaboured breath and then went lax and heavy in Merlin's arms. “He's gone,” said Merlin, paling and going green himself.

Arthur nudged Merlin forward. “Try CPR.”

Merlin held up his wrist. “Broken,” he said.

Arthur pushed forward himself and placed the heel of his hand on du Bois' breastbone. He put his other hand on top of the first one, palm-down, and positioning his body so that his arms were straight, he began doing compressions. “Remind me again, how many compressions?” Arthur asked, while not losing count of those he was giving. “It's been a while since the course.”

“Thirty,” Merlin answered quickly. “See having a newbie by helps,” he added with a very, very faint smile.

As Arthur kept doing compressions, Merlin tilted du Bois' head back and checked for his pulse. “He's not breathing,” he announced. “Keep the pauses short. Try thirty more.”

Arthur was sweating, his arms aching. He lifted his head, “Any pulse?” 

Merlin shook his head. “No.”

That's when they heard the roar. “What's that?” Arthur gritted out while still doing compressions. Metal screeched and a loud whooshing sound came at them. 

The whole fuselage groaned like a wailing giant and stream of smoke came from the wrecked depths of the aisle. Before they had time to think a big ball of fire leapt at them, flames pouring in through the crew doors. 

Arthur sprang to his feet, grabbing Merlin by the shirt and levering him up. 

There was nothing more they could do for their passenger and an incendiary wall was coming their way. 

As he sprinted back towards the cockpit, Merlin but a step behind him, Arthur could feel the heat of the fire behind them.

Arthur pushed savagely ahead, tugging Merlin by the arm, the lick of warmth at his back utterly terrifying; reminding him of a time and place he wanted only to forget. The distance between the passenger aisle and the cockpit was relatively small but it had never seemed this vast to Arthur. Not while he was racing for the latter, muscles straining with the effort and his heart was pulsing madly.

Skidding, almost stumbling, he and Merlin rushed into the cockpit, Arthur propelling Merlin forwards while lingering behind for a second in order to close the door. Once there they shared a look, knowing the door would implode in a moment, nodded at each other and moved. 

Arthur shielded his head, breathed hard, and jumped through the half smashed glass of the cockpit window, Merlin following behind. Still gathered in a protective ball, Arthur slid down the Cessna's nose and rolled himself down its side to avoid impacting the rotors. When his knees hit the ground, a shock reverberated up his spine, but he rolled to his feet and after having helped Merlin pick himself up from where he'd landed next to him, he just ran.

Merlin kept his pace, both their shoes sinking into the low level snow and making the dash a hard, mad one. Arthur's muscles straining, he kept going even though more than a little blindly, aiming to put distance between himself and the flaming Cessna. 

They were making for the trees that ringed the crashing site on three sides, when the plane exploded. The impact sent them flying. Arthur was sent sprawling, Merlin tumbled down after him, and then burning debris began raining down around them. 

Arthur heard Merlin groan. He couldn't tell whether that was because he'd hit his wrist some more when falling or whether something had hit him. Merlin was struggling to get up but failing when Arthur acted instinctively, rolling on top of him and cushioning him the best he could before the world went black around him.

**** 

Merlin rolled, dislodging a weight from on top of him, and blinked his eyes open. He couldn't focus much at first. His vision was blurry, only hulking shapes and blinding whiteness coming across through the veils of fog swimming before his eyes.

He blinked once more, moving his hand to thumb at his eyes. A shot of pain ran down his arm and almost gagged him. Movement clearly not being a good idea, he lay there stock still, waiting for the ache that was seated deep in his bones to abate. 

Small things started registering with him at this point like how cold he was and how uncomfortable. Only when he'd established that he pretty much felt like puking, did his vision clear.

The XLS' crumpled form was silhouetted in fire, flames flickering into relief against a background made up of tall trees whose branches were covered in blinding whiteness and a darkening sky. In a matter of seconds the flames rose up from under the fuselage and engulfed every single sheet of metal that had gone into making the Cessna. Hollow bumps ricocheted around the clearing as the fire around the plane deepened in colour. It was a terrible image. One that most decidedly made his guts heave. Especially when he thought of the bodies still inside. They'd been dead when the Cessna exploded, but still...

It didn't bear thinking about. He coughed and retched, spitting bile.

For long, interminable moments Merlin couldn't hear the roar of the flames. He couldn't hear anything but his heart hammering in his ears. He even had enough time to panic about having gone deaf when finally all sound came back and Merlin almost wished it hadn't.

He closed his eyes a moment then flipped around on the frozen ground, body protesting, to find Arthur's body lying close next to his. Merlin got to his knees and slowly shook him with his good hand, dread taking him over when Arthur didn't move or flinch. 

Today had been bad enough. There had been too much death already and Merlin didn't want it to end this way. With Arthur gone too. Not after he'd survived the crash itself. And not after he'd helped Merlin get out of the Cessna.

This time Merlin gave Arthur's shoulder a serious shove. It elicited a groan coming deep from Arthur's throat. After a moment Arthur rolled onto his back and let out a curse. He swiped a hand down his face, his shirt riddled with little rips that were bleeding. 

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Be a little rougher, would you.”

Merlin bit on his lower lip. “Sorry,” he said, “I thought--”

“What?” Arthur asked, very slowly sitting up.

“Um.”

“Never mind,” said Arthur, looking both lost and angry, jaw locked at the mass of fire that the Cessna had become. “I can guess.”

Merlin nodded his head. Now that he knew that Arthur wasn't about to keel back over and die, he addressed the situation. “We should get away from that wreck. It's blazing rather too merrily.” He covered his nose and mouth with his good hand. “These fumes can't be good for us,” he mumbled from behind the screen of his palm.

Arthur's voice rose in outrage. “We can't move! I gave ATC our coordinates. If we stay by the Cessna emergency services will find us more quickly.”

“If we don't die because we inhaled noxious gasses first, you mean,” Merlin said. “And by the way, you may-dayed well before we started dipping. It'll take them a while to calculate our final position on the basis of that. We must have put in miles between then and actually going down.”

Arthur twisted his mouth. “All right. I suppose that's true.” He picked himself up. “We should find another clearing close to this one.” He threw the wreck a glance. “There's no recovering anything from the plane now, so... Yeah.” 

Merlin managed to get himself to a standing position even if he hurt practically everywhere, and started to walk into the line of trees. He went ahead, lifting his feet high to walk on the hard frozen ground, his arm held against his chest, Arthur at his side. “So where do you think we are?”

Arthur looked around as if they weren't lost in a nondescript stretch of woods, made up by wind blasted, spindly, straggly, birch trees whose bark formed a quaint mosaic of colours, all in a scale of greys. “I don't know about you but I lost track of the calculations as we were going down,” Arthur said. “I can rough estimate though.”

“Please do,” said Merlin, stamping his feet above the frozen mulch at his feet.

“Then I'd say some forty miles south of Archangel.”

“So we crashed in the tundra, brilliant.” Even thinking about it made Merlin shake at the biting wind. Now that they were moving away from the fiery wreck, he could feel how unremittingly cold it was. His fingers felt like they were swelling and his hands were numb and that had nothing to do with his broken wrist either. It was the punishing temperature. Looking at Arthur, he could see he was most likely experiencing the same. His cheeks were flushed a sullen red as if he'd drunk gallons of alcohol and he was huddling in on himself, arms hugging his chest.

“Well,” said Arthur. “You can't say we didn't do it in style. Crashing in Russia, in December.”

Teeth now chattering, Merlin said, “I'm almost missing the wreck now.”

“It gave off heat,” Arthur said, his voice steadier than Merlin's though rougher than it had ever been. “But you were right about it not being safe. Staying close. So I guess we need to find a place to shelter in--”

Merlin saw an opening in the trees. “Talk about coincidences.” 

They both increased their pace, finding themselves in a round clearing. The vegetation was struggling to keep a foothold, being all mosses, lichens, and growths of low shrubs but for a single battered aspen. 

It was very bleak and desolate, offering so little shelter that Merlin wanted to cry a little. But still it was something. It was some kind of cover and far enough from the wreck they wouldn't be poisoned by its fumes yet close enough for them to find it in a heartbeat in case rescue came. Still, the bleak image made Merlin miss his uniform jacket, now in flames, more than he would have ever thought possible. “Merry almost Christmas, Arthur,” Merlin said.

Arthur touched his hand to his shoulder. “It's not so bad,” he said. “We'll have to light a fire but once we have one going we'll be fine to wait for the rescue team.”

Merlin sighed elaborately. He was sure Arthur was bullshitting him but he was strangely grateful to him for trying. His own rational voice could play the part of cynical commentator well enough without help and he guessed that if he wanted to make it optimism would be on the order of the day. “Any experience in the Boy Scouts?” Merlin asked. “Because I've never been an outdoorsy person.”

Arthur gave him a shoulder nudge as they plodded forwards towards the aspen tree. “Haven't you grown up in Scotland or something?”

Merlin couldn't believe his ears. Arthur had remembered a nugget of information regarding him, however imprecise that was. “Only for a couple of years, between finishing school and getting the job at Druid. I lived with and worked for my uncle. He had a tiny cargo company. That's how I could put in enough flying hours to become a licensed pilot, but that only means I lived near an airstrip, not up in the Highlands.”

“I was in the--”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “RAF, I doubt there is someone who doesn't know.”

Arthur took that in stride. “Well, I was.”

“And did you do survival training?” Merlin asked half as a desperate joke; half hoping that Arthur would know what to do. 

“Some,” Arthur said, “And, no, it didn't involve making fires. More like surviving in enemy territory.”

Merlin sat at the foot of the aspen tree, hugging his legs as best he could with his aching wrist. “Pity, I should have made sure I had an ex-SAS officer to glide land with. I mean I don't think we'll need combat skills since we're not in enemy territory, but the survival skills alone... an SAS guy would have would have been sure to see me through.”

Arthur knelt on the frozen ground next to Merlin. “Well, sorry to disappoint.”

Merlin bit his lower lip to avoid giving in to a smile. “You can't have everything, can you?”

Arthur shuddered with the cold, a wave of it that took his whole body over. “It seems not,” he said, sounding less put off than Merlin would have given him credit for. “But we can gather twigs and get that fire going.”

Merlin reluctantly got up again. Moving was a punishment on his bones, his joints protesting vehemently, his wrist jarring him with pain with every move. He'd have much rather balled up and stayed put, storing every last bit of body heat he could. But he realised that they did need a fire and that they wouldn't survive unscathed if they didn't ramp up their heat sources somehow. 

Looking around at the clearing, Merlin sought out the necessary items with his eyes. Even though there were fewer trees around this part of the tundra, Merlin could see plenty of moss to scrape up, pine needles that had been blown their way, and thin branches that came from half frozen bushes. Dried yellowing grasses also abounded. 

“At least there's something we can use,” he said.

“That's the spirit,” said Arthur, starting his search.

Merlin went to the other side of the clearing. He could only use one arm since the other throbbed but he would help. He'd keep warmer if he moved anyway. God knows the concept of warmth seemed very extraneous to him now but he had enough sense to understand that stillness would be his enemy in these conditions. 

Eyes on the ground he raked up anything that might be even remotely combustible, gathering firewood in the shape of skeletal branches and moss.

He tucked his findings under his arm as the best way to carry them, dropped them by their aspen and then started again, until he had a reasonable looking mound at his feet. Having two arms at his disposal, Arthur produced much more firewood, including bark shavings, which he piled at Merlin's feet until they had adequate stock. He looked inordinately proud the moment he ducked his head to stare at their collection.

He rubbed his hands together and said, “We have what we need, it seems.”

Merlin knelt down again. “Yeah, now the difficult part begins though. Because I don't know about you but I don't have any lighters or anything.”

“There was a time when people lit fires without any of that,” Arthur said. He went on his knees in front of Merlin and observed the pile of kindling. 

“I'm sure,” Merlin said. “You around back then?”

Arthur sent him a withering glare. “No, but it can't be that hard.”

“I hope not,” Merlin said.

Huffing, Arthur started digging a fire pit with his hands and then scoured the scrubby undergrowth for stones. 

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked as he watched Arthur construct a ring of stones around his shallow pit. 

“Insulating our fire,” Arthur said, looking up with a smile. “You can feel the wind too judging by how pale you are. This way our fire will be protected.”

Merlin sent Arthur a smile, his facial muscles feeling the lash of the wind more than when he'd been moving. “Where did you learn that?”

Arthur buried a chuckle against his chest. “Comics about the Far West.”

“I hope they were accurate then,” he said, hunching in on himself to offer less of him to the biting cold. “Because I can't feel my hands.”

Arthur stared at Merlin. “You'll have to wriggle your fingers even if it hurts.” Arthur proceeded with their fire. He sprinkled dry bark, wood shavings, and the yellowing grass plus some fluffy fungus in a bundle in the middle of the small pit he'd dug. He added kindling in the shape of the twigs Merlin had retrieved, building a sort of tent-like construction on top of the kindling layer, adding twigs to it as he went. The bigger logs came last.

“The moment of truth,” Arthur said as he started to rub two wooden sticks together. Merlin couldn't take his eyes off the point of contact, hoping to see a spark. 

Nothing happened even though Arthur tried and tried. “I'm sorry. I-- I can't seem to make this work.”

Arthur sounded devastated about it. They both knew that with night falling their odds of survival would drastically diminish if they didn't get that fire going. It was already cold past bearing and what had kept Merlin going was simply adrenaline, panic and incredulity.

Arthur's motions became jerkier, snappier. He pulled his eyebrows together. “Fuck,” he swore.

Merlin reached out with his good hand and placed it around one of Arthur's. “Arthur,” he said. “You've got to relax. No good's ever come of being all stressed and stuff.”

Arthur fastened his eyes on him, meeting his gaze dead on. “If I cock this up we're as good as dead.”

“That's why,” Merlin said, reining in his teeth chattering, “You have to stay relaxed. You're more likely to cock things up if you're nervous.”

“Who taught you that?” Arthur asked with a head tilt.

“My wise uncle,” said Merlin, squatting closer to Arthur so as to feel something warmer.

Arthur nodded. “Indeed,” he said, jutting his jaw out and going for a second attempt, his hands steadier this time as he turned the kindling stick in the palm of his hands, running them quickly down the spindle in a burst of speed. 

“I know you can do it,” Merlin said.

Arthur continued with the motion, saying, “You have more confidence in me than I have.”

“That's something I never thought I'd hear you say.”

Arthur's eyebrows drew together. “That's because you don't know me,” Arthur said. The friction was generating smoke, the first sign that luck was turning their way since events had precipitated with the plane.

Merlin might be a little incapacitated considering how much his wrist hurt, but he could help with this. He bent lower and blew gently to fan a flame. Eventually, the spindle tip glowed red, giving birth to an ember. The sparks gave way to a small fire, weak flames wrapping themselves around the logs. Arthur joined in on blowing on their camp-fire, both of them probably looking utterly ridiculous as they did so but also incredibly hopeful. There was a gleeful light in Arthur's eyes now. One that said, “There, I made it, you people of little faith,” even though he'd been the one not to have any hope to begin with.

“See,” Merlin said, feeling the warmth emanating from their fire. “I knew this had to happen.”

“You were whining before it got lit.”

“But I was the one who told you to persevere.”

“That's just because you were freezing,” Arthur said, spreading his palms out so the blaze could warm them. “I still don't see how a man who's just crash landed can be an optimist.”

“It's a gift.”

They laughed but the laugh subsided as the cold seeped into their bones. Even with the fire going it was difficult to ignore it. Merlin's limbs felt heavy; his muscles hurt because he kept subconsciously straining them in an effort to make himself as small as possible so as not to present a large front to the wind. It felt like he'd just done two thousand push ups and he was cramping – even while he couldn't stop trembling. The more he concentrated on his body, the more his mind went. His thoughts drifted and swirled in some kind of grey fog that made his responses sluggish.

The best he could do was stare at their makeshift camp-fire. The flames threw weird, wavering, and grotesque shadows on the snow, shapes Merlin watched morph as night fell, stars glittering in the clear sky above. 

Eyebrows pulling together, Merlin asked, “How long do you think we'll have to wait till help gets here?”

“It's been how long since we crashed?” Arthur said, chancing a look at his wristwatch, whose case seemed to be shattered. “An hour, two?”

Merlin shrugged a shoulder, causing his cramps to ramp up. “Yeah, about that, I'd say.”

“Then anytime between now and tomorrow,” Arthur said. “It depends on whether they're having white out conditions and how long it takes them to locate us based on our last position.”

“I suppose we'll have to wait then,” said Merlin.

“That's our best chance,” said Arthur. “The radio's probably gone with the plane. My stuff, mobile included, is up in flames.”

Merlin's limbs started shaking even more than before, the grim prospect of waiting it out in the open -- in the Russian tundra -- probably contributing. At this point Merlin was _so_ cold he could scarcely move. He wasn't sure that he had the mental capacity for logic left. He doubted any plan of action he could come up with from now on would be valid. Even reviewing the facts they had – when they'd last contacted ATC, where they'd been, speculation as to where they were – seemed past his abilities. If he didn't know better he'd think his blood was thickening in his veins and making clots in his brain. Limbs numb, he watched the fire through half-closed eyes.

“In a few hours the fire on the plane will die down and we'll see if the radio’s still working,” Arthur said, distracting him from the murky pool of his thoughts.

“Mmm,” Merlin said, “perhaps.”

“Maybe we'll be able to retrieve something from the wreck, something useful,” Arthur continued. “If no rescue team finds us, well, starting tomorrow we'll make our own way back to civilisation. There's bound to be some kind of motorway or village or...”

Merlin's cheeks felt as if ice had formed over them. He was shivering from head to toe, unable to stop it. “But we don't know how long it'll take us,” Merlin said, slurring his words. “I'm not sure if it has escaped you but Russia's a big country. A big, cold country.”

Arthur said, “I know basic geography, Merlin, thank you,” and then reached his hand out to touch Merlin's skin. “You're not okay.”

Merlin chuckled. “No, probably not,” he said drunkenly. He could see his breath misting on the air with every word he spoke so he prattled on just to watch the coils of vapour rise up to the sky. “But then again this has been a very bad day.” 

Merlin drew in a few laboured breaths, the air he breathed in like blades slipping down his throat.  
He tried to think but his mind swam. His wrist was throbbing faster than his heart was going. It was an effort to keep his eyes open, reality getting a dream quality about it as he watched swirling flakes of snow drift this way and that in the wind.

Arthur scooted closer. “Don't,” he said. “Don't close your eyes.”

“Why?” Merlin said. Letting go seemed easier and vastly preferable to experiencing the pain in his arm and the heaviness that made every thought a toil.

“You know why, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You need to stay awake. You need to stay active.”

“But why?” Merlin said slowly, dragging out the last letter. 

“Because if you don't, you'll die,”

Merlin hugged himself and leant his head back against the tree. It was a nice prop. The cold was sapping his strength and he doubted he could walk all the way to safety if they asked him now. Arthur was probably right; this was the end of the line for him, but somehow the thought wasn't alarming. He picked at it but he could feel no fear. “That should make you happy, you've always hated me.”

Arthur rumbled a protest Merlin didn't catch in its entirety. Part of it was insults; the other half was something like: “I never did. And I'm surely not going to let you die on me.”

Arthur manhandled Merlin, pulling at him until Merlin was sitting between his legs, his back to Arthur's chest instead of to the tree. “This will help keep us both warm," Arthur explained. 

“Nifty,” said Merlin, lowering his lids again, the reflection of the fire still playing behind them.

Arthur grabbed his chin. “Stay awake,” he said.

“I would if I could,” Merlin managed to say. “Can't say it's easy.” He drew out a few more words. “How long till dawn?”

Arthur's arms stiffened around him. “A while yet. So talk to me.”

“'Bout what?”

“Whatever you want,” Arthur said. “How Scotland was. How come you're so good at maths?” He flicked a thumb at Merlin's forehead, making him blink his eyes open. “Things like that.”

“And can I ask questions in return?” Merlin asked, words still pretty slow to come. “It's boring talking about me. I know about me. I know all there is to know about me.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, putting his arms around Merlin and rubbing them up and down his frame to warm him up. “An answer for an answer.”

“I used to think Scotland was cold,” Merlin slurred. “Not after this.”

“Why?” Arthur asked, trying to knead warmth into Merlin. “Why did you think that?”

“Uncle Gaius' airstrip was in the middle of nowhere and the wind had at it,” Merlin said. “When I woke up in winter I used to find water frozen in my night glass.”

“That must have been weird,” Arthur said, pressing himself tight against Merlin’s back. “Didn't you have central heating?”

“Old, cranky,” Merlin mumbled. “Didn't work most of the time.”

“Didn't it occur to you to get it fixed?”

Merlin shook his head no, bobbed his head yes, frowned at the fire. “Of course it did. But the thing is... it was old and would sputter to a halt the next day anyway. And you're being misleading. You said...” Merlin's thoughts unspooled for a moment until he found the thread he wanted to pursue again. “You said I could ask you questions.”

Arthur grasped Merlin's shoulder, working the knots out. Merlin's muscles were seizing with the cold and the motion helped. “Yeah, but it was a quid pro quo. You must stay awake. Are you curious enough?”

“Don't know,” Merlin said. “Have you got anything interesting to tell me?”

“I'm a very interesting man,” Arthur said, shivering himself around Merlin. “I can promise you that.”

“You're cold too,” Merlin said, feeling Arthur tremble.

“It's sub-zero,” Arthur said, his voice as raspy as Merlin's. “Of course I feel the cold.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Well, you're being a good thermal blanket.”

“So honoured,” Merlin deadpanned. He grew quiet for a while then decided he wanted to hear Arthur's voice again. “Are you afraid of falling asleep?” Merlin asked, ignoring the general glibness in Arthur's tone for the fear displayed in the way Arthur's body was moving. Arthur had wrapped himself around Merlin like a limpet and was squeezing him tight, enfolding him in a desperate manner. 

“Let's make a pact,” Arthur said. “Keep me awake and I'll keep you awake.”

For the first time Merlin thought Arthur was as badly off as he was. Before now he'd believed he was weathering this better than Merlin, since he'd stayed somewhat cool and hadn't complained much. But now that he was considering it, he saw that was not the case. Arthur may have not broken anything, but he was wearing as little as Merlin; was probably cut and bruised everywhere, including on the forehead, and might be mildly concussed. Merlin would be doing him no favours if he gave up to the drowsiness. He'd only be dragging Arthur after him, and while he and Arthur weren't friends, Arthur had saved his life and proved that he was by no means a horrible person. Merlin owed it to him to stay awake. 

“Okay,” Merlin said slowly, thoughtfully, trying to at least bask in the human contact that was keeping him conscious, “Answer me this then, answer me this.” His eyelids flickered to half-mast.

Arthur shook him, tightening his grip around him. “What? What should I answer?”

Merlin rubbed his eyes with a bruised knuckle. “Why do you hate flying commercial so? I mean aside from tonight, it's not so bad.”

Arthur lowered his head. Merlin felt his breath on his shoulder as he said, “I don't hate flying commercial.”

“I'm pretty sure you do. You sound like you do ninety-nine percent of the time,” Merlin said, remembering Arthur's tone as he described his past with the RAF. It had always come across as a put down of his present. “You always compare it to how good you had it when you were in the military.”

“I loved being the military,” Arthur said. His delivery was short. Toneless. 

“Yeah, I got that,” Merlin said. “And you think flying Druid is crap, which granted, after today maybe, but still I've been with them for nearly two years and I've never had a problem. And yet you're always going on about the military. Just... I don't get it. Why did you go for commercial flying if you hate it so much?”

Merlin couldn't see Arthur's face because of where he was, cradled by the man's knees, in his arms, but he could bet on him having a thousand mile stare at the moment because of the cracks in his voice. “The fact is, Merlin, that I love flying more than anything.”

Merlin could relate; he'd never felt freer than when he was up in the sky, above the clouds. He didn't need much adventure in life, but he did need that sensation. Freedom. The knowledge that everything was possible. Sometimes he thought his mum had named him after a bird for a reason. He made a quiet sound in his throat to show he understood.

“Yeah, like that,” Arthur said, probably having got the meaning behind Merlin's sounds. “And I loved serving my country. I was proud. I'd have done it till retirement age struck. But I was shot down by anti-aircraft artillery during a stupid reconnaissance mission. I survived. But I got wounded. Nothing so dire that I couldn't do most things, but I'm no longer fit for active service.”

“So?” Merlin asked, forehead rumpling. “They what? Gave you the boot?”

“I was honourably discharged on disability grounds.”

“The bastards,” said Merlin.

Arthur drummed his fingers down Merlin's side. “Not really. I could no longer perform my duties. What should they retain me for? I was a burden. And being a burden means getting other people killed. I had a hard time seeing that and for a while I was angry... I guess I'm still angry. But rules are rules. I see that now.”

“You still miss it though,” Merlin pointed out. Arthur wouldn't sound as pained as he did if that wasn't the case. “That's why you go on and on about it.” Merlin had thought Arthur had been bragging when he talked about his sting flying Tornadoes, but perhaps he wasn't. There was a chance he'd been reminiscing, maybe punishing himself with memories of a time that could never come back. “And loathe civil aviation.”

“I told you I don't loathe it.” Arthur resettled, moving Merlin with him. “Do I really talk about it that often?”

“Not to me,” Merlin said sleepily. “You never speak to me if you can avoid it. But to the girls at Druid. To Elyan and the other pilots. The flight assistants.” Merlin nearly choked on the memory of Euan and Carla. “To everyone who'd listen.”

“I don't mean to,” Arthur said. “Or perhaps I do and I can't stop. I don't know which it is.”

“That's okay,” Merlin said. He was honestly surprisingly okay with that, something that had been a bit of a secret bone of contention between them, Arthur giving himself airs. At least on Merlin's part. He'd always thought Arthur a humongous git for that. “And it's not as if you were saying those things to me any way so I have no place complaining.”

“You think I was… what? Bragging?”

Merlin hummed under his breath, squinting at the fire. “Yeah. You do it rather well.”

“I suppose that’s true then,” said Arthur. “I-- Respect doesn't come easy,” he added, apparently inconsequentially, yet causing Merlin to guess at his train of thought.

“I wouldn't have respected you less as a pilot if I hadn't known about you being a fighter one.” Merlin's voice had gone low and gravelly with how sleepy he felt but he wanted to make a point. And it seemed his frail voice carried for Arthur answered. 

“I believe you,” Arthur said. “And maybe that's why I was never bragging to you. Maybe it was because I could see that you were very happy with what you had. You're doing what you love best. I can see that. Maybe I was jealous.” 

Arthur's thoughtful tone lulled him into drowsiness; even his admission about having been jealous didn't rile Merlin in the least, perhaps because he hadn't processed it. He was being cradled and that lent a sense of security that helped him on the road to sleep. 

Before he could make sense of Arthur's words and how they related to him, Merlin had let his eyes  
fall closed and his breathing had slowed.

 

***** 

 

Arthur felt it when Merlin went lax. His body became heavier but still manageable. The first thing Arthur did when this change occurred was check Merlin's pulse. It was there but it was shallow, just like Merlin's breathing. 

Feeling it stutter sluggishly made Arthur shake Merlin, made him knock at his foot with his shoe. “Come on, Merlin, wake up, don't be lazy.” 

At first Merlin wouldn't react, almost convincing Arthur that he was going, that it was done. That he'd failed his second pilot like he'd failed the RAF, his comrades and his superior. Merlin had done better than him by far today, keeping his cool, making calculations Arthur would have had a hard time following through alone, and he couldn't just let him die for lack of trying. 

Arthur went for a second attempt at waking Merlin, shouting a little, his voice echoing off the clearing, emphasising just how much on their own they were.

“Merlin, wake up, now!” Arthur said, perhaps more roughly than he'd intended, even though his tone had been reduced to a broken whisper by the cold-induced hoarseness in his voice. Even so, and despite the fact that Arthur's earlier shouting had done nothing to make Merlin stir, Merlin moved. He kept his eyes closed but most decidedly said, “Not my shift yet. Can't you see that it's early for my shift?”

“Merlin, you don't have to go to work!” said Arthur, racking his brain as to why Merlin would think he did. 

“No?” he asked, as if he really was confused about that. “I thought... I thought. That's why it's so cold, isn't it?”

Arthur felt a wash of misgiving. Could Merlin really not remember? What they'd gone through had been pretty momentous. If Merlin had trouble remembering it, then something was very wrong. Deep shit levels of wrong. “Yeah, that's why it's so cold. Because we crashed. We're in the middle of bloody Russia, and I need you to stay awake.”

Arthur wrapped his limbs more securely around Merlin and Merlin pushed back against him, seeking Arthur's warmth in a way that made Arthur's heart contract a little in his chest. It made him feel Merlin and the responsibility of him, the human life in is arms. 

It made Arthur see that Merlin wasn't just the impulsive pilot he sometimes shook his head at. He was someone with a history of long days spent in Scotland learning to fly and living with his uncle who had an airstrip and a small business. He was a whiz kid, surprisingly good at crunching numbers under pressure. He was the kind of person who managed to retain a sense of humour in frankly crappy situations. He knew when to push and prod, yet he had a heart of gold that guided him constantly. 

He was the kind of person that could really empathise and make you feel it. As he had when Arthur had told him about the accident and being unfit for service. Merlin's tone had been understanding. He got human emotion and pain. And he was rather great at comforting; not needling, when it wasn't wanted. He was a bit of a great person, a good lad, and Arthur couldn't let go of him, not now that he was seeing more of Merlin, going deeper. He was ready to find out how he ticked. 

Merlin wasn't just that cypher, that cheerful lad who flirted with Sefa in obnoxious ways and mostly appeared odd to him anymore. He was a competent pilot with a wry sense of humour and a good head on his shoulders. 

Arthur gathered Merlin closer to him as some little warmth, all coming from Merlin, seeped into Arthur's bones, helping him wage war against the cold. "Okay," he said, “let's do this. I'm going to start talking now. I'm going to ask you questions. I want you to answer them, talk back, do anything but fall asleep again. All right?”

"I hate this," said Merlin.

“I don't require enjoyment,” Arthur said.

“I prefer enjoyable things.”

“Is that some kind of double meaning?” Arthur asked. Perhaps riling Merlin, who clearly hated him for his having been less than smooth with him at times, would be of help. If Merlin got worked up, and got angry at him, he might stay awake. 

“You're ridiculously handsome, but no,” said Merlin words slow but carefully chosen. “You don't like me. I never make a pass at people who don't like me. Not even when they look sun god-ish and stuff.”

Arthur covered Merlin's uninjured wrist with the palm of his hand, ostensibly, to work some warmth into it by rubbing Merlin's pulse point. In truth he just needed the contact. And once he had it Arthur couldn't deny that it felt right. If they'd told him this morning that by nightfall he'd be doing this, he'd have probably laughed out loud. But now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

With only Merlin and himself here in the forest, the vast desolation of the big unknown before them, human touch seemed like the perfect resource to buoy the spirit, even more so since he was gaining a new insight in Merlin that compelled him on, that made him want to poke and probe at this connection he felt working its way deep inside him.

He might be feeling that connection because they were stranded in the middle of nowhere or maybe he'd been bound to feel it sooner or later, but it was there now and he didn't want to let go of it. “I don't dislike you, Merlin. It's more like... Never mind. You promised me you'd talk so you'd better.”

“I never promised you anything. I don't remember doing it.”

“Your neurons are clearly freezing, that's why you don't remember it. But you did promise you'd keep me entertained.”

“You're using my confusion against me.”

“I never would, scout's honour.”

“You said you were never in the scouts!” Merlin said loudly, chasing a night bird off a tree. “I distinctly remember that. See, my neurons? Not that frozen.”

They sparred with words for hours after that. Arthur got Merlin's biography out of him while he gave up bits of his past he'd thought he had forgotten. He talked about his family, his first home, and how proud he'd been after he'd finished his basic training. During that last week he'd been on cloud nine.

He told Merlin all about it, and Merlin responded, tried hard to focus and have a conversation with Arthur. He spoke about Druid, his friend Will, his friendship with Sefa, and his career prospects, his dreams.

When the stars started twinkling so bright because of the frost all around, Arthur said, “It's Christmas Eve now, Merlin. Merry Christmas.”

And Merlin laughed softly, breath short and answered, “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

They both got tired of talking at times, their voices rough from not drinking for hours. They'd tried melting snow and sucking on it but it had chilled them even more so they'd ruled out that option. They couldn't go looking for water until dawn broke or they'd walk to their deaths, dark as it was, so keeping the chatter up strained their voices.

But they kept it up and at last they were rewarded. They saw the first sun rays break past the crown of trees that circled the clearing. They lit the sky up above them in a fuzzy palette of muted gold and dull azure streaked with white. A light fog rose from the ground and dew misted everything over, giving it a phantom glow.

Arthur gave Merlin's body a rough jerk and said, “We've made it, Merlin. Look, it's dawn.”

Merlin sat up straighter without putting much distance between his and Arthur's body. “You're right,” he husked, before clearing his throat. “Help should come now.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, allowing himself to hope, for the first time since the crash, that they would make it. “Maybe, maybe we should go check the plane. Maybe the radio's survived. Or the food we had on board, the water bottles, even. I don't know about you but I'm parched.”

Merlin nodded. “Okay, it's worth a try. Maybe we can scavenge something if the flames have gone out.”

That was a big _if_ , but Arthur was willing to try. He pushed Merlin upwards and then followed him to an upright position, his limbs scarcely working, and decidedly hurting now that he was moving them again. 

“Uh--” Merlin said. “I suppose we'll have to go slow.”

“Speak for yourself,” Arthur said, attempting to take a step forwards. He stumbled badly, almost ending up face first in the snow. He had to reach an arm out and steady himself against the still wobbly Merlin so as to not fall.

“Maybe just a little bit slower than usual,” Arthur said as he oriented his body towards the direction they'd come from. He took a tentative step, then another. He couldn't feel his legs and advancing seemed like a great challenge.

“We could help each other out,” Merlin said, “until we get our circulation going.” He wrapped an arm around Arthur and steered him onwards. 

“Once more unto the breach, eh?” Arthur asked, his knees buckling. 

“Something like that,” Merlin told him with a small smile. 

They almost fell a few times, but since they were supporting each other, they didn't topple over backwards or end up crashing their knees into the ground. As they went, Arthur found that movement became easier, his limbs responding better, bending when he wanted them to, if not as they did when he was in top physical form. 

Merlin, too, looked more stable on his feet, the measure of his step getting longer, more confident. 

Arthur caught the small smile that Merlin couldn't quite hide as he found that they were making good progress. “See what a little collaboration does?” Merlin said.

Usually, Arthur would have protested the concept. He preferred to do things by himself and to be responsible for his own successes. To be self-sufficient. He'd always relied on his skills and his instincts to see him through the roughest patches, but right now he could accept and cherish Merlin's presence. They were seeing each other out and this helped lessen the sting of his needing support at all.

For a stretch he tugged Merlin more closely to his side, even though he was getting sprightlier. He just enjoyed the proximity, Merlin's presence there. It made him more determined to make it. It gave him hope. Having a partner in this was not so bad at all. Not as bad as he would have expected. In fact it was quite good. 

This close Arthur could make out all the bumps of bone Merlin came with. His body heat. His breath. The way Merlin's body relaxed when pressed against him gave Arthur some kind of moral buoyancy that was grounded in physicality. For as long as he could he didn't dissect it; he just experienced it. 

Left with nothing to fight it with, Arthur relaxed and gave in and basked in Merlin's silent, supportive presence.

They stayed pressed together for longer than needed and at least until they entered the thicker part of the forest.

“Do you think this is the right way?” Merlin asked. “Does it look like we're walking towards the wreck?”

“Trust me,” Arthur said. “I have an excellent sense of direction. Even in the wild.”

“Are you sure you're not confusing yourself with Bear Grylls?”

“Ha ha, Merlin,” Arthur said, more fondly than jocularly. “I'm pretty sure I'm good at this. Trust me. I wouldn't get us more lost.”

And that was true. He wanted Merlin, even more than himself, to make it. Overnight, between willing Merlin not to fall asleep and basically admitting to himself that he'd had reasons for shunning Merlin that weren't based on unbiased perception, he'd owned up to being more than partial to Merlin. To having a stake in what happened to him.

“I truly hope so, but then again I guess a smoking wreck won't be too hard to find.”

It wasn't. 

Along the skid path parts of the plane – aileron, flaps, the odd bit of charred upholstery, plus the contents of the lockers – were strewn around. Arthur spotted a travelling bag that must have belonged to du Bois and small pieces of gadgetry lying there in the snow.

Part of the wreckage, the turbines and tail, were still smouldering. Smoke billowed upwards in whorls and arcs of dull, steel grey. The fuselage structure had partly disintegrated and was scattered throughout the wreckage. But the fire was mostly out, having spent itself now that nothing much was left to burn. The cockpit, the last to have been hit, was still on fire though. Yet, since the plane had come apart, the fire was isolated. 

“Radio's out,” Arthur said. He wouldn't put Merlin in danger by trying to get to it while the cockpit was still crackling away. 

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “We could still try the rolling carts and see if anything edible survived the fire.”

“Right,” Arthur said, as they struggled towards the jumbled mass of debris. “Try that bag first,” he added, indicating the item in question. “Maybe there's a phone in it or some food.”

As Merlin went to check the bag, Arthur clambered into the back of the plane and started looking for the rolling carts that were usually placed by the convection oven. 

With the plane having landed lopsidedly, nothing was in its place. Everything was tilted sideways and at times upside down. Nothing was where it was supposed to be and everything looked different, charred. 

The rolling carts had wheels too and that meant they might have rolled somewhere they didn't belong. Arthur turned around and tried to suss out where they might have wound up.

Some storage units were laying on the ground, deformed and half melted by the heat of the fire. They weren't the big ones, the ones they used for food, so Arthur bypassed them. He hunkered down, searching among the debris for the carts. At last he found one of them. It was black and the metal had shrunk and curled in an odd way. The good piece of news was that the door was almost cracked open, if jammed.

Arthur thought that with a good kick or two it'd spill open. He straightened again, his back twinging, and prepared to kick it when Merlin shouted, “Hey, come over here. I've got something.”

Arthur looked at the melted cart and the gaping hole in the fuselage that allowed him to see the clearing. Merlin had found something; he on the other hand would have to pry open a cart he wasn't sure contained anything they needed. Prioritising seemed easy. “Coming,” he yelled as he picked his way out of the wreckage and jumped clear of it.

Merlin was sitting crossed leg next to the open bag Arthur had told him to search. “Anything good?” Arthur asked as he walked up to him.

“The bag must have been du Bois',” said Merlin. “It's in good condition. Unfortunately, he must have had his phone on him when he died so no luck with that but he packed in some useful stuff together with the odd document or two. There are chocolate bars and biscuits in there and a bottle of water.”

Arthur sighed in relief. He was so thirsty he could kill. “Hand over the water,” he said.

Merlin did. “You'll have to open it,” he said, showing Arthur his wrist, which, in the pale light of the morning looked swollen as well as black and blue.

Arthur nodded and twisted the cap off the bottle. Even though his mouth was watering at the mere thought of ingesting liquids, he handed the bottle to Merlin first. He seemed to need it more than him. 

“Arthur--” Merlin said, hesitatingly.

“You're not all right. Drink first and save some of it for me.”

Merlin bit on his lower lip. “I won't drink first. You have as much right as me.”

“Come on, Merlin, the sooner you drink, the sooner I will too.”

Merlin seemed sceptical and undecided but at last he grasped the bottle and took one large gulp, Adam's apple plunging in his throat as he did, before passing it back to Arthur.

Arthur threw his head back and gulped in some water. It tasted strange, like plastic would taste if you could drink that, but it was so good all the same, his mouth no longer dry, his tongue no longer swollen. 

As Arthur capped the bottle, Merlin handed him a chocolate bar and unwrapped a second one for himself. “Not that bad of a breakfast.”

Arthur had already wolfed down half of his when they heard the distinct sound of rotors cleaving the air. Arthur knew it well; a helicopter was approaching. 

“They're coming to rescue us,” said Merlin, the strain in his voice giving way to a measure of relief. Arthur swallowed down the second half of his chocolate bar and listened as the sound intensified. The noise grew deafening just before a big Sikorsky flew overhead.

Merlin squinted up into the hazy clouds. “That's not--”

The helicopter dropped lower, fending the treetops just as Arthur finished Merlin’s sentence, “A rescue helicopter.”

They had no time to make sense of what they were seeing before the helicopter's side-door opened, and a man dressed in black from head to toe leant out, embracing an automatic. Time stood still and then the figure started shooting at them.

Grabbing the bag still containing vitals, Arthur shouted, “Run!”

Merlin, however tired and done for, didn't hesitate. He shot forwards and Arthur followed him, the both of them aiming for the cover the trees would provide. Even so bullets rained after them, shaving the bark of trees and sending fragments of it flying as if they were projectiles themselves.

The ground behind them was being riddled with holes.

A bullet must have passed inches from Merlin's nose, stripping more bark off a pine. The bark shot up into Merlin's face, a cut opening on his brow. Merlin shouted, “There's no way in hell that's a rescue.”

Arthur couldn't agree more. He wasn't even bothering trying to understand why this was happening at all, too busy running to save his life to take the time to think. Earth was flying up in dirty clumps and clouds, torn by ammunition fire, just where Arthur and Merlin had been but a second before. They had to press on or be sitting ducks. 

Bullets whistled past his ears and either ricocheted off each surface they encountered or dully thudded into the ground. A further shower spattered around him as he slowed to catch his breath. Slowing down was a bad idea.

Loath to lose their last bottle of water, Arthur adjusted the bag strap across his back, jumped over a root, and pushed forwards with a burst of speed. “Go into the thick of the forest!” he yelled. 

He could have explained that he thought they were too visible here but his heart was in his throat, he was soaked with perspiration despite the cold, and he didn't think he had it in him to explain tactics to Merlin. Not when ammo struck the earth about them or clipped their clothing. 

“Shit,” Merlin shouted. “That nearly got me.”

Arthur ploughed closer to Merlin and while still at a run he grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him onto a narrower path surrounded by trees on both sides, the tops of lusher pines providing more cover than the taiga-like woods from before. Here sounds were muffled and no bullets seemed to be zeroing in on them. But for all that there were disadvantages. 

The ground had a sloping gradient and their path was riddled with obstacles in the shape of exposed roots that tangled together, rocks, and minimal space to move in.

Arthur skinned knuckles and elbows as he brushed past trees and branches. His lungs were fit to burst and his chest ached. Arthur had prided himself on being fit, and staying so even if he was no longer in the military, but they'd been sprinting across uneven terrain for a while now and it was enough to put him to the test. Maybe more so since he'd spent the preceding night out in the open, without food or water, almost freezing to death. And Merlin, Merlin had a broken wrist and had been feeling sluggish all night long.

They weren't in the best shape to survive this.

And since they weren't Arthur's legs gave. He stumbled and fell to his knees, hands out to break the fall. Merlin stopped running and came back to him. Even as Arthur was preparing to yell at him to go on he realised that shots were no longer ringing around. He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think he could hear the sound of rotors either.

Merlin offered him his good hand to help him up and Arthur, after a moment's hesitation, accepted it. 

“We've lost them,” said Merlin, head cocked to spot any noises that would alert them to the presence of the helicopter.

Arthur wasn't quite so sure although for now his senses told him the same thing. “Maybe,” he said. “Still I'd rather find some kind of hiding place.”

“Me too,” Merlin agreed, his breath still coming fast from their dash in the forest.

They started again at a fast walk, searching for some kind of shelter.

Once Arthur got his breath back he started considering things aloud. “Who were those people?”

“I have no idea,” said Merlin as he picked his way through the undergrowth. “I only know that that was in no way a rescue.”

“But they most certainly were trying to kill us,” Arthur said. “That wasn't random. They were pretty determined.”

“Yeah,” said Merlin, massaging his wrist in pain. Blood had congealed on the side of his face and he now looked like a ghost more than a man. “You can say that again.”

“Which tells us what?”

“Well, I don't know about you,” said Merlin, “but I've never had anyone wanting to kill me before.” He huffed and staggered before regaining his balance. “Unless we're talking metaphors in which case I'd have included you.”

Arthur said, “Not funny,” though paradoxically, that did wrest a chuckle out of him. “So what's left?”

Merlin stopped in his tracks so that Arthur almost walked into him. “That leaves our passengers.”

“You think...”

“You know what I think,” said Merlin. “Actually I believe we were stupid not to consider it before.”

“You mean...”

Merlin turned and curled his fingers around Arthur's forearm. “Du Bois said...Something about them doing it and something else that sounded absurd about--”

“Norse gods,” said Arthur. “It seemed to make no sense.”

“Because we took that to be the ramblings of a dying man,” Merlin said. “But they weren't, were they? Not after what's happened to us. And then there was the secrecy about our destination. Also the exploding plane.”

“But if he hadn't said that absurd thing about an Odin, we would have guessed,” said Arthur. “We were mentally out of it for most of the night but the crash-- The crash was no accident.”

Merlin's eyes bore into his even though he'd let go of his arm. “ Your fist brush with death this week had us think natural causes caused the crash. And yet the weather was bad but holding. Besides both engines were fine five hours into the flight.”

“There was no alarm, not even a pressure gauge going off,” Arthur continued.

“Until we got fluctuating EPR and EGT problems.”

“We weren't losing thrust because of a normal small fire,” said Arthur. “Gas temperature was high because there had been a micro explosion in engine one.”

“And then two followed,” Merlin said. “We could have landed fine with just one.”

“Losing one might have been an accident but two....”

Merlin paled. “We were bloody sabotaged!”

Arthur swallowed. They'd lost two crew members because someone had tampered with the Cessna. “By someone who knew what they were doing. There was nothing wrong with the plane before take-off. I checked.”

Merlin nodded his agreement. “Well, unless you'd stuck your head in the rear bypass and found a mini bomb, you wouldn't have had any wrong readings because everything was fine.”

“And everything was _fine_ ,” said Arthur, working it out, “because whoever tampered with the plane wanted us to think it was.”

“Shit, that's horrible,” Merlin said. “And all for what?”

Arthur could take a wild guess. “Getting back at du Bois?”

Merlin winced. “I'll grant you; he wasn't the nicest person in the whole world but murder? And the way this was done: faking an accident that would cost innocent victims' lives... That's even worse.”

Arthur suddenly remembered the bag he'd brought along. He put it down looking at it in a brand new light. It was no longer a source of food now; it was an answer. “At the time I thought I was saving the water but perhaps our answer is in there.”

Merlin fixed his eyes on it, his mouth falling open. The moment of paralysis didn't last long. He quickly went on his knees, opened the canvas cover, rooted inside the bag with his good hand, and slipped a bunch of documents out of it. 

“What do they say?” Arthur asked, ears still attuned to their environment in case their attackers came back.

“Give me a moment to get a look at these; there's a huge bunch.” Arthur watched Merlin as he pored over the print-outs that were gathered in a plastic binder marked as confidential in flashy capital letters. “I guess this was his reading material for the flight,” he said.

“So nothing good for us, I guess?”

Merlin smacked his lips together. “I don't know. There's charts and they look nothing like engineering charts so I'm at a loss. And wait, there's talk of an acquisition.”

“Acquisition?” That sounded like a possible motive for murder. “What kind?”

“There's talk of 'acquiring the target and of a second tender offer',” said Merlin, brow puckering as he read on. “The loan to service the offer is listed as having been granted,” Merlin quoted on tonelessly. “Blah, blah, blah... City Code rules concerning minimum bid levels needn't apply. 'Board can be bought out despite obvious recalcitrance.'”

“I think that's that,” said Arthur. “That's the key. Du Bois was involved is some kind of hostile acquisition and...”

“And the target wasn't so happy?” Merlin said, looking up from his reading. “So what, they...”

“Sabotaged him the way he was sabotaging them?” Arthur speculated. “It seems possible.”

“Does that really happen in the business world?” Merlin said, chewing on his lower lip. “I thought you'd go straight to a corporate lawyer if there was trouble in that area. Isn't there a panel or something that regulates this kind of thing?”

“I think so,” said Arthur. “But then again we know what's gone down. The Cessna mainly. Can you ignore that?”

“But how?” Merlin paled some more, his face getting a sickly hue that made Arthur worry. “How did they get their hands on the Cessna? And who would choose to kill the crew too?”

Arthur closed his eyes at the thought. “I don't know how but I'm sure someone who was very angry and very ruthless did.”

“My God,” Merlin said. “That's, that's--”

“Horrific.”

Merlin passed a hand against his forehead. “Sometimes I really don't understand people.”

Arthur put his hand on top of Merlin's where it rested on the binder he'd been looking through. He locked eyes with him, Merlin's eyes giving away just how he was feeling. “That's because...” Arthur wanted to joke and say 'that's because you're naïve'. But he couldn't manage to actually say those words out loud. As much as he might have thought them true at one point – Merlin being green in life and a rookie at the job – he now knew there was more to that. “That's because you're a good person, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed conspicuously and shook his head, expression still harrowed. “I--”

Arthur knew why Merlin couldn't find anything to say. He couldn't either. He'd pushed it too far. They'd moved from animosity to being drawn to each other too fast and Arthur felt so lost he didn't quite know how to explain why that had happened. Then he realised that perhaps they didn't need words. Arthur thumbed at the area around the cut on Merlin's temple. “Still bleeding,” he said. “I can fix that.”

Merlin ducked his head. “That first aid course coming in mighty useful all of a sudden?”

“It's more like I saw a packet of tissues in the bag and thought I could use them.”

Merlin gave a tiny snort, lips tilted upwards. “Yeah, okay. I could do with a strategic clean up.”

Arthur dug the packet out of the bag and took a tissue out. He grabbed the water bottle and was about to uncap it when Merlin stopped him by intercepting his hand. “That's the only water we have.”

“That cut is dirty,” Arthur said. “It--”

“It's not going to get infected and even if it were, let's be honest, infection would set in much more slowly than dehydration.”

However much Arthur wanted to clean that wound, he had to give it to Merlin. He was being rational, more than Arthur was. “Okay, you're-- You're right.”

“Sometimes it happens,” Merlin said with a grin that let less of the strain they were going through shine. “Though I'm amazed you can say as much.”

Arthur smiled. “I can admit to that kind of thing...”

“Being less than perfect?” Merlin said as Arthur dabbed at his cut with the hem of the tissue. He tried to scrape the crusting blood away and to remove the tiny bark splinter without opening the cut more. He went slowly about it but Merlin said, “Ow, that stings,” all the same.

Arthur tutted, unable to contain a grin. “Don't be such a baby, Merlin.”

Merlin looked him straight in the eye, dimpling up at him. “Let's not start with that ‘I'm-super-tough-I-used-to-be-a-top-gun routine,’ please. I'm a civvie pilot. I'm not used to getting shot at.”

Arthur made humming noises as he cleaned the edges of the cut, wiping at the dirt. He inhaled deeply as he went at it, zeroing in on the blood rather than Merlin's expression, the fact that his eyes were watering in spite of the smile he was wearing. “I have no routine,” he said under his breath, paying attention to what he was doing rather than what he was saying, even while something like awareness of Merlin's every in-take of breath, every move, every flinch, every reaction, was now becoming part of his consciousness.

“No?” Merlin said. “I could have sworn you've pulled that quite often. Good for you that you have hero looks. Otherwise it'd be pretty sad.”

Arthur couldn't help the smile that twisted his lips. “I've hero looks now, have I?”

Merlin said nothing for a while, just held his breath as Arthur cleaned the path the trickle of blood stemming from his wound had cut through the side of his face. But then he seemed to think of something to say, for he exhaled and fired off, “I was making fun of you.”

“Were you?” Arthur said, mopping up the littlest bead of blood.

“Laughter is a gift,” Merlin said, quirkily solemn.

Arthur's eyes met with Merlin's and lingered. He noticed how blue and clear they were for the first time. He noticed a billion tiny things he hadn't stopped to consider before as he stared at Merlin, at his earnest, unafraid expression. It was something Arthur could admire in him. How brave he was in a situation he had no frame of reference for. How he could find something to laugh at even as they were victims of circumstance. How he could poke fun without hurting people, unlike Arthur, who wasn't really cut out for that kind of thing. 

His breath caught in his throat as he considered all these things and how close to him Merlin was kneeling. How important he'd become. “Yeah, it is.”

He dropped the dirty tissue and stroked the side of Merlin's face with his thumb. Merlin's eyes drifted shut and Arthur ran his fingertips along the slopes of Merlin's face, tracing his angular cheekbones and the equally sharp edge of his jaw.

Heart hammering in his chest, Arthur felt quite caught in the moment, as if he couldn't stop what he was doing even though he had never thought it through. He crawled closer, cocking his head. His lips parted, his heart skipped a beat just as Merlin's eyes widened down to the pupil, his breathing skipping. 

Arthur thought this moment would last forever. Struggling for breath, he held Merlin's gaze. Merlin himself leaned forward, his eyes dropping to Arthur's mouth, when they both heard some rustling among the foliage. Before Merlin could speak, Arthur covered his mouth with his hand, trying to ignore the startled breath fanning across his palm. “Shh,” he muttered. “It could be nothing but it could be them.”

Merlin nodded, eyes flaring with fear. Arthur did the same in response, waited a beat to make sure there were no more noises then they quickly stashed the documents back in the bag. He closed it, sprang upwards, heaving Merlin up as he did so, snatched it up and husked, “Move.”

He shot forwards, Merlin on his heels. Trying to move as noiselessly as possible, he hurled himself down a tiny path covered with slush and ice. He was frantically looking for a hiding spot when he noticed that the ground was sloping into a bowl-like depression, a higher ridge sheltering it from the natural track they were following. 

Arthur hissed, “Quick, Merlin, down that way.”

“It's fairly steep,” Merlin hissed back, breathless.

“It's that or getting caught. Those guys aren't friendly.” Arthur, for one, started down the mound, waving his arms frantically for Merlin to follow him.

Cussing, Merlin looked back, then down at the slope, hesitated a moment and then trotted after.

Now sure they were being followed, Arthur took the slope at a skid. He wanted to get to the bottom fast where they could at least enjoy some cover. He wouldn't go out without a fight but he knew he wasn't in a position to oppose armed people right now. Merlin was hurting from a broken bone, they had spent the most horrible night in creation, and they had no weapons. 

He was planning how to get one from their pursuers when he tripped down the slope, losing his footing on the frozen slippery ground. Frantically, he reached for the slim trunk of a sapling to steady himself, but it was too fragile to support him and it snapped. 

Losing the little balance he had, Arthur went down the side of the mound like a bowling pin, losing the bag.

 

****

 

When he saw Arthur go down, Merlin wanted to shout Arthur's name but knew he couldn't. They were being trailed and if they were being followed by the same people that had shot down at them from the Sikorsky, then Merlin didn't want to give away their position.

Still, his heart was in his throat and he had to bite his tongue not to call out. As silently as possible he made his way down the slope, going slower than Arthur had, partly because he didn't want to knock himself out too and partly because as much as he wanted to speed up, his balance was shot because he was holding his injured wrist to his chest.

He slipped and almost fell himself, moss being even more slippery than ice, but he made it down in one piece.

Arthur was lying on the ground, his limbs lax, but his chest was rising and falling, which was a big relief. All the same Merlin went to his knees to check on him. Arthur's eyelids were flickering, yet mostly shut, and he was out cold.

Merlin cupped his cheek with his good hand and said, “Come on, Arthur, wake up. They're coming.”

Arthur mumbled something but didn't otherwise stir. All the while loud noises where coming from up the track they'd just left.

While Arthur had had a good idea seeking refuge down here, he hadn't exactly tumbled in the best spot. They were still visible and would need to flatten themselves against the earthen ridge in front of them to be truly hidden from any on-comers. Yet getting Arthur there wouldn't be easy unless Arthur woke.

Conscious of this, Merlin shook him forcibly, but Arthur stayed down. There was nothing for it but to move him as he was, praying they wouldn't be spotted while Merlin tried to get him from here to there while his wrist, and mostly everything about him, gave him pain. 

‘All right,’ Merlin thought. ‘Let's do this.’

Merlin raked his eyes over Arthur, trying not to dwell on how his being unconscious scared him, and attempting to think of a way to move him. A fireman carry would get them to the other side of the depression they were stuck in easily but he wasn't sure he could do it in the state he was in. He'd have to grab Arthur by the middle with both hands and that was out of the question.

Short of that there was only one other thing he could do.

Merlin slung the bag across his back, moved around Arthur, wrapped an arm under his and around his chest and began pulling him backwards. Sweat broke over his brow and they were being slow but they were covering some of the distance even though Arthur's body was leaving an Arthur- shaped track in their way.

Huffing, muscles burning, he pulled Arthur towards the earthen bank. “I swear I'm putting you on a diet if we get out of this alive.”

One more heave and push of his heels and they were there. Merlin propped Arthur against the earth wall, his own legs keeping him from falling, and made himself as flat as possible.

He used the breathing space to look around.

Moss and a layer of frozen mulch covered this side of the tiny concavity they were sheltering in. Shadows were reflected in sombre green and pale russet waves. The ravine itself was deeply shadowed and tangled with under-brush; lichens were also prominent. 

Close as he was to the ridge, the smell of soft black earth mingled with the musty one of fungus filled his nostrils, making him think of decay. 

In the opposite direction and perpendicular to the gulley, broken, frozen woodland stretched away for miles towards the distance. A blue range of high land looking like a promise of freedom extended itself behind it.

It was all very grand, majestic, and desolate, towering skeletal trees and evergreens making him feel small and alone, telling him that there'd be no help coming for them from any source. Arthur had been knocked unconscious and the clattering of footsteps from the path above put a chill into him not even the big Russian cold had managed to drive into him yet.

The sound grew stronger and this time the forest rippled with voices too. Merlin strained to hear but at last made out what their pursuers were saying. “They must have come this way.”

“I don't know,” the other said. “I'm sure I saw something move but maybe it wasn't them.”

“Wasn't an animal either.”

“Okay, let's get to the end of this track.”

“Not so fast,” the first pursuer said. “Let's split. More chance of finding them.”

“But--”

“Do as I say, they're weapon-less anyway.”

“We can't be sure.”

“Odin will skin us if we don't top them off too.”

Merlin held his breath, his arm wrapped around Arthur, his nose buried in his nape, until the sound of boots clacking told him their pursuers were momentarily gone. At that he expelled a big breath, which seemed to rouse Arthur. 

He flailed a bit, Merlin's arm closing tighter around him in reassurance. Thankfully, though, Arthur seemed to quickly realise where he was. His hand covered the one Merlin had around him, his fingers locking with Merlin's and squeezing. “What happened?”

“You raced down the side of the gulley and knocked yourself out.”

“I remember that, barring the last bit,” said Arthur, his hand still on top of Merlin's. “I meant where are the assassins?”

Merlin looked up to the path. “Gone, for the moment.”

“But they'll come back.”

“I think so, yeah. I suppose we're witnesses.” 

Arthur's body coiled up again but he didn't make a move to shake Merlin off. “Merlin, we need a plan.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, still occasionally looking at the track high up on the ridge. “You could say that.”

“We need to take those two out.”

Merlin kind of wanted that too but he didn't have the least idea how to turn that into an effective strategy that would rid them of those assassins. “How?”

Arthur craned his neck to direct a half-arsed glare at Merlin. “That's why we need a plan.”

“We could take them out one at a time since they split to look for us,” Merlin suggested.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you telling me that only now?”

“Arthur, it's not as if we have any weapons. How are we going to take out a couple of hired assassins? That's why it didn't occur to me to tell you that first. Our best bet is to--”

Arthur turned his body around so he was facing Merlin. “There's no best bet. As I see it, as long as we're targets the odds are stacked against us.”

“We need help,” Merlin said. “We should go get some.”

“I know,” Arthur said, “but do you really feel confident navigating these woods with those people around?”

Merlin gulped. He couldn't say he did. He knew they couldn't go back to the crash site because of the people wanting them dead. He knew that was the first place they'd look for them. He was also aware of the presence of their two pursuers in another way. If they didn't look for them by the crash site, they would be tracking them out here. That wasn't something Merlin wanted to happen while he fought his way back to a populated area. Without instruments, without knowing where they were going, they could run back into them if they tried to walk back to civilisation.

“No,” Merlin admitted. “No, I don't. It's just that I'm guessing that entails killing them.”

“That or incapacitating them for long enough to get us in the position to reach a road, contact someone, and ask for help.”

“Right,” Merlin said. “You're right.

“You don't sound like you think I am.”

Merlin dropped his gaze and worried his lip. “It's all very well for you, this taking people out business, with you having been in the military, but I'm still to adapt to the notion.”

Arthur's wrapped his palm around Merlin's arm. “I'm glad. Glad that you're wired that way.” He paused, sought out Merlin's eyes, something that Merlin couldn't quite refuse him, and said slowly, “It's not something I'm looking forward to either. I never enrolled to kill. I did it to defend people. My country.”

“There's no country to protect here though,” Merlin said even though he really had no wish to press the point. “Just you and me.”

Arthur gave him a soft look. “Yeah, true. That's enough for me though. Getting you out of this.”

“I can promise the same,” Merlin said, forcing himself to let go of the tension the thought of using violence had sparked in him, shoulders softening. “That I'll do my best for you too.”

Silence fell between them, Arthur's eyes slowly widened as if in pleased surprise, his lips quirking, and Merlin felt his heart thudding down to his fingertips. It lasted but a prolonged moment, this special silence, but long enough for Merlin to feel that something between them had shifted. However that might have happened Merlin didn't care. He just knew that he'd meant what he'd said; he cared about Arthur. Experience in the field or no, he'd do his very best to protect him. With his life, even.

“Right,” Arthur said, “we'd better get down to the planning then.”

They leaned closer together, ready to concoct a plan even though Merlin couldn't quite forget that odd moment between them. “You said they spilt up. Can you remember where they went?”

“I couldn't see well from down here,” Merlin said, brow gouged by furrows as he tried to visualise how things had gone down. “But from what I heard they moved in the opposite direction, one of them going back where we'd come from while the other just pushed ahead.”

Arthur's eyebrow went up in a non-verbal 'are you sure' question.

“At least, that’s what I think happened.”

“We'll have to hope you got that right,” Arthur said. “And go from there.”

“Okay.” Merlin frowned, considering the situation they were in from as many angles as possible. “We'll have to find a way to take their guns from them or we're basically screwed.”

“I think we'll let them catch us...”

Merlin's voice went up. “That blow to the head really did you in.”

“Shh, Merlin,” Arthur hissed. “Could you be any louder!”

Merlin bowed his head sheepishly. “It still stands. That's a stupid option.”

“Not if we do it guerrilla style.”

Merlin wasn't sure he'd heard that right so both his eyebrows went up a notch. “And how are we even supposed to act on that?”

Arthur smiled and grabbed him by the neck, pushing their foreheads close. “Listen to this…” he said, sharing his ideas with Merlin.

When he was done Merlin was both hopeful Arthur's plan might succeed – it was simple enough to – and dreading the outcomes. Still, he said, “I trust you.”

“I don't know why,” Arthur said. “You didn't up till a few days ago but...” His ability to form words seemed to crumble, his grip on Merlin's neck softened, as his expression grew a little more tender, even though a glimmer of humour, or perhaps self-deprecation, stayed with him. And then Arthur was bridging the inch or so gap that was between them, and his lips nudged against Merlin's. 

His thumb tucked against Merlin's jawline where the bone jutted, Arthur's lips closed around Merlin's, parting them for the soft lick of his tongue, there and gone without giving Merlin the opportunity to respond or ask himself why this felt so good and why it didn't faze him as it would have a few days ago.

“For good luck,” Arthur explained, colour high on his cheek as Merlin had never seen it before.

Merlin's synapses were a little bit fried at this point so his reaction was some incoherent stammering that might have amounted to, “Strange way of courting luck,” which went together with a slumping of the shoulders. Merlin had liked it better before Arthur explained.

“I think luck owes us by now.”

 

**** 

Before scuttling towards the more open section of the path Arthur looked to his left and to his right. The path was solitary; not a sound made it to where he was. This also meant that if there was any he would pick it out immediately and be able to respond quickly.

In short, he was in a prime position to act in the most prudent way possible. He spent a second to think about Merlin. He hoped he was fine, that his wrist didn't hurt so much it would become an impediment, and more importantly that nothing would happen to him.

Merlin needed to stay safe. Even though Arthur's plan couldn't be implemented without a little risk taking, Arthur prayed Merlin would remember to.

For a second the image of a dead Merlin floated in his brain and it was almost enough to freeze his guts. His insides almost did a flip, cold sweat running down his back, before he could command himself to do what he'd proposed.

Making sure for the last time that there was no one around yet, Arthur shot forwards and, crouching, made his way to one end of the path. Once there he braided a clump of withered grass blades together, tying them into an overhand knot that wouldn't snap. When he was done he sprinkled moss about his handiwork so that it wasn't immediately noticeable, flattened it a bit with his shoe, and then stood up.

His eyes scoured the ground for a rock or branch. Most of the path was strewn with needle leaves and layers of ice. There was nothing much at his disposal that would do what he wanted it to. So he stalked up to the nearest tree and jumped up to reach a low-hanging branch. He fought to hug it properly, grasping it as best he could as he started swinging from it, making sure to put all his weight into it. That portion of the branch was a slender thing. 

The more Arthur swayed, the more it bent, until it snapped with a crack, Arthur cleverly landing on his feet, the branch falling dully onto the ground. Arthur picked it up and swung it against the trunk of the tree as though it was a baseball bat. He did it twice. Sure that he'd made enough noise, Arthur ducked back behind his hiding place: behind a broad leaf shrub covered in days old snow.

He waited with baited breath for anything to happen but at first nothing did. “Come on,” he muttered to himself, keeping his head down while still trying to keep an eye on the track. At last he heard the clamping of heavy-duty footwear. 

Someone was heading down the path, foliage hissing against their boots with each stride. Arthur heard the he ugly click of an automatic's slide snapping forward and into place. The man who'd been hurrying Arthur's way took a few more steps and Arthur was now able to spy a broad back turned to him. It was Arthur and Merlin's former assailant, standing up straight, scanning the terrain with his rifle barrel.

He had the high ground but he was facing in the direction opposite Arthur's.

Arthur acted before he could turn around. Inching on his stomach, he made for the edge of the path, poked his head over the lip of the little gully his shrub had grown all over, and then, hoping to God he hadn't forgotten his training, which hadn't included exactly this anyway, he leapt forwards.

Giving his opponent a flying kick in the back, Arthur knocked the man forwards. His opponent then half turned around, his muscles bulging and ready for action. Before he could react properly Arthur grabbed the arm that was holding the weapon and twisted it until he heard it snap. The automatic rifle dropped to the ground just as Arthur's opponent took to howling in pain. But even that wasn't enough to stop him. 

No, Arthur realised, this man had a mission and it entailed leaving no witnesses behind.

Broken arm notwithstanding, Arthur's opponent came at him, releasing a savage kick at Arthur's ribs that made sharp pain flash up Arthur's body. Unwillingly, Arthur had to drop back but his opponent wouldn't let go, not before he'd popped his face with two left jabs directed at his cheekbones. It hurt like hell, but Arthur knew that if he let himself feel that, he'd be bested.

He was facing a pro, he had little doubt, and such a man wouldn't think twice before exploiting his weaknesses.

Arthur had to do the same. Grabbing his opponent by the injured arm, Arthur hit him in the solar plexus with two hard rights. The man's mouth fell open in a soundless hiss. That was when Arthur smashed a hook to his chest, sending him nearly toppling backwards. 

Unfortunately, the bastard was good and he recovered before he could fall. With a grunt of rage he charged at Arthur again and Arthur was positive he had to avoid that furious charge if he didn't want to die today.

Just as his opponent came at him, Arthur twisted free, sidestepped and tripped him. The man went stumbling past, and Arthur helped him into the ditch he'd come from with a one-footed kick in the side that had him tumbled over the edge and onto the ground below. 

The man landed awkwardly on his back, the sound indicating that he had to have broken a few bones.

Winded, his face smarting and his knuckles raw, Arthur picked up the rifle the assassin had left fall, and wielding it, moved over the edge of the path.

The weapon was ready to fire, Arthur noted. He breathed in, breathed out, observed his opponent, who was out cold, and closed his eyes.

When he reopened them he fired one single shot, aiming for the man's thigh. It wasn't a killing shot, unless the man bled out, but it was surely incapacitating. The bastard wouldn't be bothering him and Merlin any time soon.

He'd barely experienced a flood of relief at that, when he heard the crack of a gunshot he hadn't fired.

Blood freezing in his veins at the thought of Merlin having been on the receiving end of that shot, Arthur flung himself down the path, arms pumping, chest heaving. 

Fear drove him onwards, the stark naked fear of finding Merlin dead at the end of the path. Pushing it away from the forefront of his mind, he sprinted faster, following the noise.

He had to get there before it was too late.

 

**** 

 

Lips still, metaphorically, tingling from a kiss that had, sort of, come from nowhere yet shaken him to the core, Merlin stamped through the vegetation and back towards the path they'd been hurtling along before they'd first heard sounds of pursuit.

Even though his mind should be geared towards action he couldn't help dwelling on what had happened between him and Arthur. And how much he'd have liked for that kiss to be something more. 

He knew. He knew wishing that was absurd because he and Arthur weren't close and they were who they were. Yet Merlin would have returned that kiss if he could have. Arthur was hot enough, personality aside, to warrant such an urge. 

And, as it turned out, Arthur wasn't horrible personality-wise at all. Odder things had happened than finding out this guy you'd mostly loathed was... nice and attractive. (Okay, all right, he'd been attractive all along but the personality defects had seemed to subtract from that.) Before, Arthur had been hot but too much up his own arse to be pulling Merlin in. Now he was kind of _hot_ hot.

Merlin snorted. This was really the worst moment ever to be having a one track mind. He was cold enough and scared enough that sex, or anything connected with it, shouldn’t really feature in his thoughts.

Anyway he had to get to work before he was surprised by the assassin someone had paid to top off du Bois. And now him and Arthur. So Merlin did what he and Arthur had agreed upon.

He hunkered down and started knotting together grass blades until he had a semblance of a trap that came in the shape of an inverted stirrup. He tested it by tugging on it and decided it would hold long enough to do its job.

Straightening, he worked out the kinks in his back and took a deep breath. Now it was time for step two: getting noticed. There was more than one way to do that but he mustn't be rash about it. He had no combat experience and that had to weigh in. 

Merlin scanned the ground, hummed low in his throat and finally decided on a course of action. 

He plodded further down the path, angling his body towards the slope he and Arthur had climbed. It was then that he started talking out loud, cupping a hand around his mouth. “I can't believe the bastard left me here to rot. There was a reason why I hated that pompous arse.” 

He made more noises while he hung du Bois' bag from a branch as a lure and sprinkled in some invectives. Then, since no one was turning up yet, he laid it on thick. “If the cold doesn't kill him. I swear I will.”

It was then that he heard the sound made by someone running through the snow and brush. They were moving in his direction. The sound was getting closer by the minute to the point that he picked out how heavy the breathing of the person jogging towards him was. The heavy winter air, so still and laden with mist, seemed to magnify the sounds, getting them across to him and making them spookier. 

Racked with a sudden chill, Merlin started to doubt he would be able to pull this off, but he tamped down on the fear and slid behind a tree. 

When the killer came running he didn't see anyone along the track, but took a moment to get the bag before speeding over and into the trap Merlin had laid for him. 

He went flying, losing bag and weapon, flung stomach first onto the hard ground. Merlin didn't waste one moment.

He tackled the assassin from behind, pinning him down with his weight. Stretching on top of him, he went for the man's gun, but the assassin twisted from under him, threw one leg across Merlin's hips, heaved and flipped them, forcing Merlin onto his back. A scuffle for the gun started.

Merlin could feel the assassin's strength and determination, the steely muscles bulging under clothing. Merlin knew that if he lost the gun he would be dead and that losing it would be easy. 

They were wrestling on the forest floor, grunting, their breath hitching as they jabbed at each other with elbows and knees. They fought on until the assassin managed to free one hand for long enough to go for Merlin's throat, choking him; with the other he tried to reach for the weapon. 

A bubble of hysteria filled Merlin's chest as his oxygen was progressively cut off. Breathing became more and more difficult.

Even as his air supply was being chipped at, Merlin persevered, pushing his shoulder into the assassin's chest in an effort to get him to slacken his grip. It seemed to work, for Merlin's lungs were rewarded with a rush of fresh air that made him light headed. Too light-headed, since the assassin used that moment of Merlin’s distraction to smash his broken wrist into the ground. 

Merlin screamed; howled really, pain washing him clean of all thought. His vision went black; his stomach heaved. He felt sick and hurt under his skin. Felt as if the waves of torment would never stop or ease.

As if from a distance, he heard the gun discharge, expecting even more pain to overwhelm him, thinking he'd die now. But pain didn't. Instead everything came back into sharp focus. His vision readjusted and he saw the killer swing the gun towards him; saw him leer.

Merlin had a second to do something before he was shot in the face, perhaps even less. 

He hooked his uninjured hand, now free, at the assassin's jaw, hitting as hard as he could and followed that with a kick. The killer's eyes went out of focus; his grip went slack and he let go of the gun. It skittered away, far enough not to be a danger right this moment, close enough to still be a threat should the killer get it back.

And then Arthur came, spinning towards them he took in the situation. Arthur must have seen the killer reach for the knife he had stashed in his boot; he must have seen him arc it down towards Merlin, for flash of the blade was unmistakable. For his part, the killer, having heard Arthur coming, slashed the knife at Merlin. He only grazed the arm Merlin had raised in self-defence but it wouldn't be like that for long.

So Arthur aimed the rifle he must have got from their other pursuer and, mouth pursed in a grim line, fired.

The killer slumped on top of Merlin.

Dizzy from pain and exhaustion, the weight of a dying man on top of him, Merlin released a sob, before remembering the killer was dripping blood on him. Merlin shook him off then curled in on himself, pulling at his hair to get a grip, the other hand stiff at his side. Merlin had never wanted to give in as much as now.

The precision rifle forgotten at his feet, Arthur dropped into a crouch next to him. He helped Merlin sit up and before Merlin could even think, one of Arthur's hands was buried in his hair and Merlin's nose was smashed against Arthur's neck. “Merlin.”

Merlin sagged against him, boneless as a rag doll. For a moment he shut down. But as Arthur was a solid presence there, his breathing slowed and evened. A slow glow of warmth went through his limbs.

Arthur was running his hands down Merlin’s back one moment, kneading his shoulder the next. His face was ashen and there was a deeply stricken look in his eyes. “I'm okay,” Merlin said to chase that look away. He didn't like it.

Arthur kept touching him to make sure he was all right, his hand cupping his head now and subjecting Merlin to as thorough a scrutiny as he'd ever undergone. Not even doctors had ever been so thorough with him. When full understanding hit him, Merlin felt a deep tightening in his chest. “Arthur, it's okay.”

Merlin felt more than saw Arthur swallow. “You're bleeding.”

“You should see the other guy.”

Arthur cuffed him lightly upside the head. “Tosser. I have nothing to bind this slash with.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Merlin, bending his arm to check. “It's shallow.”

“You sure?”

Merlin pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yep.”

“So, what now?”

“We said we'd go look for help?”

“I mean, can you make it?” Arthur scanned the forest around them. 

“You're not leaving me here!” said Merlin. “We'll go together.”

Arthur gave him a hard, considering look. Merlin raised his eyebrow and Arthur gave him a curt nod. “Okay then.” He pushed himself up, picked up the assassin's gun, stashing it in his trousers, while leaving behind the unwieldy rifle, and reached a hand down to Merlin. “Let's go find help.”

 

***** 

The forest dwindled into a vast steppe without any highlights; a flat, low, mournful and unvaried plain of interminable extent, covered with thick under-brush, through which streams ran. Arthur noted that sometimes deep rugged gullies cut into the monotony, slopes giving the plains rounder edges, tundra flowers, both fragile and strong, dotting the wind-lashed sedges.

He and Merlin moved under a cold, grey sky and through a land that was dark and unforgiving. A land of long, winding rivers that gave way to frozen marshes, bogs crusting with ice, and gusts of wind howling over frozen lakes. They trekked across snow-covered plains and hard ground cracked by mud and cumbered with yellowed scrub.

Mulch crunched under Arthur's shoes as he ploughed on through the undergrowth, his legs rigid, his chest aching because of the cold and the beating he'd taken. Small animals, those that hadn't gone into hibernation, skittered away from the path he and Merlin were clearing. 

It would have been a terrible test of their survival skills, if, a few hours into their march, they hadn't found water. 

They tracked down a rivulet, born of a spring higher up. Taking their empty water bottle out of du Bois' travelling bag, a burden they would have done without but for the proof it contained, Merlin climbed up to the source. He craned his neck to look around and told Arthur, “Flowing free.” 

The next moment Merlin was drinking from the spring and when he was done he filled their bottle to full capacity.

Slowly Arthur clambered up to Merlin's perch and drank his fill too. After going so long, it was bracing, refreshing, a new lease of life. Drinking and eating the last of du Bois' supplies, to which they added a helping of wild firethorn berries, gave them the strength to continue on. 

They stumbled and had to lean one against the other, but they were still able to plod on. Arthur got more and more dejected the more he took in the landscape.

Cold gales swept at them but they ducked their heads and kept moving. At one time Arthur tripped and fell, fetching up into a ball. Merlin rushed to his side and with an arm around his middle gently pulled him up, all the while saying, “I know we're close to civilisation. I just know it, Arthur. We only need to walk a little bit further.”

Arthur cocked his head at Merlin. Frost clung to the tips of his hair; his face was red. There were lines of pain around his mouth and eyes. His hands were worked raw and nearly frost bitten, but his smile was something else. It was still true and vibrant. 

That smile crystallised everything that Merlin was for Arthur and made something in Arthur bloom hot and sweet. Arthur forgot about those aspects of Merlin that had baffled him before and dwelt on his courage and strength. Merlin was one of those rare men who had the guts to wrap their strength in softness, who could win people over with a smile. No matter how hard life hit him or what happened to him. It was a kind of resilience that was rare to find.

Arthur found that he liked that, appreciated that, and wanted to preserve it. “I'm slowing you down.”

“No such thing,” said Merlin, eyes glittering brightly maybe from the cold or perhaps something else. “We should help each other out and that's what I'm doing.”

“I--”

“I won't listen to anything you're going to say because I know what you're going to say,” said Merlin with a stubborn pout. “We're in this together. Doesn't matter what happens. We're sticking together. I promise you that.”

They were so close now, and everything was so still around them, that Arthur could hear every swift breath Merlin took; could smell him, even if it was washed clean by the wind. Arthur could have said something. He could have probably tried to express what he was thinking and feeling. He did none of that.

He took Merlin's face in his hands and opened his mouth with his lips, their tongues tangling and curling in a kiss that went deep. When it ended Arthur found himself smiling to himself.

“And what was this one for?” Merlin asked, more confused than Arthur thought he should be since he'd given as good as he got.

“I think you know,” was all Arthur said.

They couldn't discuss that more for now. They needed to find shelter and a phone before night fell again or they would have a cosy date with death. Arthur was also impelled forwards as much by awareness of the danger they were in as by a desire to make what they'd just had happen again. Which couldn't possibly happen if they died here today.

They shambled on, limping at times out of weariness, the cold piercing at them through the scant clothing they had on. They did so until they were too tired to proceed.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Arthur couldn't take it anymore. 

He didn't think Merlin was in better shape. There were dark gouges under his eyes and the cut on his arm had only stopped bleeding a while ago, but only after Merlin had lost enough blood to feel dizzy. Or, to look it, at least.

In spite of that he was soldiering through without a complaint. That in itself was more than a little worrying; Arthur might not have been intimate with Merlin before the crash happened, not enough as to have a grasp of what he'd do in most circumstances, but he knew him well enough to be positive about one thing: Merlin had a mouth on him. God, he'd talked back at Arthur, a man with experience on the job and his senior, often enough for Arthur to be aware of that quality in him. 

The fact he was being silent told Arthur Merlin was close to a break down, that he was being silent to cheer Arthur on and not to let him think he was shutting down.

They found a group of rocks facing onto a menacing bog and eased down onto them to rest. “We'll make it,” Merlin said, sounding less and less sure despite his confident smile, blowing at his hands probably to stop them from freezing stiff. 

Arthur was quite glum about their prospects. They'd walked all day and seen nothing resembling a hint of civilisation. A dense stand of evergreens stretched to the north but aside from that nothing but steppe was visible for as far as the eye could see. 

There were no bloody landmarks anywhere, no pointers, and even though Arthur had a rough idea of where they were based on air-charts, he couldn't tell how that would translate to land distances. And walking them. What seemed close when flying wasn't when you had to get there on foot.

Arthur made a noise that was neither agreement nor disagreement. He didn't want to bring Merlin down, couldn't truly bear to, but he refused to fool him either.

“We need to get going again,” Merlin said, clinging to hope and stubborn smiles.

Arthur was aware of that but needed the respite as much as he needed breathing. “In a moment,” he said, offering Merlin the water bottle. Merlin drank a measured dram and gave the bottle back to Arthur who imbibed a mouthful as well.

Not a minute later they were on the march again. They crossed the thicket they'd seen before, keeping a decent pace, the wind less punishing where it couldn't blow as freely as over the plain they'd left behind. Even with that slight positive, they were close to stalling; Arthur's body couldn't be prodded a lot further and Merlin had never looked worse. 

Fear was flickering at the back of his mind, a larger than life presence reminding him of death and the slow descent into it, when they emerged from the cluster of trees to find a house in a clearing.

The house was made entirely of seasoned wood and it had a rickety porch and a sloping roof. It stood on a raised foundation and had only one storey. It had the general air of a dilapidated country cottage. 

“We found ourselves a _dacha_ ,” Merlin said, sounding more enthusiastic than he'd ever sounded since the crash. “Let's check inside.”

Arthur nodded, stumbling up the stairs leading to the porch. Before trying the handle, he knocked three times, getting no answer. Even turning the handle didn't yield a response. “I guess it's abandoned,” Arthur said, drawing the only possible conclusion.

“Well then,” said Merlin, looking pale and frail all of a sudden, “the owners won't mind if we break in.”

So saying, Merlin picked up a rock and hurled it at the window closest to the door. The glass shattered but didn't fall inwards. Merlin helped matters along with an elbow jab that won him another cut and a place to stay the night.

Arthur nocked an eyebrow. “Is there something I should know about your past, Merlin?”

“Don't be an arse.”

The _dacha_ was small. Not counting the storeroom, it had two rooms, plus a bathroom and a window giving onto a small back garden that sloped down towards a rivulet of some kind. 

The furniture seemed to be a relic of the seventies, wonky, spare and half rotten to boot. It was all there but in pitiful condition. 

Yet it was salvation.

The first thing Merlin and Arthur did once inside was searching the house for any means of communication; an old mobile, a plain phone, a radio. There was nothing of the kind though upon a search of the storeroom they found some used winter clothes, a pile of woollen blankets, a box of fat candles that went with long thin matches and an empty gas canister.

“We can stay the night and look for help tomorrow,” Merlin said, leaving du Bois' bag on the table, and working his shoulders free of kinks.

“Better than spending another night in the open,” Arthur said, pulling the safety on the gun they'd requisitioned from the goon who had attacked them and stashing it into a half-empty cupboard.

With the light dying out outside, they saw to lighting the candles first. That cheered them up and offered some extra, though minimal, warmth. 

A blanket draped around his shoulders in a similar fashion to Merlin, Arthur went looking for anything they could use to tend to their wounds and scrapes.

He didn't find much of anything apart from two plasters and an extremely short piece of gauze. His Cyrillic knowledge amounting to zero, he wasn't even sure if the bottle he'd found was hydrogen peroxide or something explosive best left alone, so he let it be where it was.

Making use of what they had, Arthur broke a frame and made a splinter for Merlin's wrist he bound with the masking tape he found in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Do you know what you're doing?” Merlin asked, as they sat around the dusty kitchen table, his arm stretched out for Arthur to tend to. He didn't sound alarmed at all given that he attempted a smile or two in between winces.

“It's the best I can do,” said Arthur, who was fairly sure he wasn't cocking this up. “A real doctor will see to it tomorrow.”

Merlin smiled. “Civilisation!” he said. “I'm so happy we're getting back to it. I always knew there was a reason why Robinson Crusoe gave me the chills.”

“Oh, an avid reader,” Arthur said, stabilising the splinter. “I didn't know that about you.”

“There's lots you don't know about me,” Merlin said, voice soft and thoughtful.

Arthur knew that was true and now it came with a pang, with 'a no, I don't want that to be true' cry of defeat. He wanted to know Merlin through and through, every inch of him, mind and body. 

Wanting to make up for the time he'd wasted butting heads with Merlin, his eyes now took in every part of him; the turn of his neck, the shape of his lips, the earnest light that lit up his eyes.

He had to tear his gaze away to be able to stay grounded enough to finish patching Merlin up, to go root in that storeroom from an old bottle of Vodka and a rag. When he came back he poured vodka on the thin strip of cloth he'd ransacked. When he looked up from this task it was to find Merlin looking at him like he mattered, as if he wanted Arthur, the light in his eyes shining warm and true. 

Arthur felt his face heat, a thrill chased up his spine even though God knew they'd had enough thrills to last them a lifetime, and his stomach plummeted halfway to his knees in a pure free-fall, as if he was thirteen again and just coming to terms with the whole fancying people thing. 

He threw his shoulders out in an attempt to retain some dignity, started over towards the table, straddled the chair in front of Merlin, and, grabbing his 'good' arm, started swiping at the knife cut he hadn't been able to clean before.

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed, “you can do that later.”

“I left it alone long enough already.”

“Same as your wounds, then.”

“Mine are just scratches,” Arthur said, pouring more vodka over the length of the slash, Merlin hissing loudly in response. “They've all closed nicely. You, instead, have shed blood all over the place. Half of Russia, in fact.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said again, grasping Arthur's forearm in his upturned hand, pressing hard to get his attention, his grip strong and wilful. It caused Arthur to look up from his ministrations, to lock gazes with Merlin until they were both breathing fast, chests rising with it. There was no pushing this away now, no escaping it.

Merlin scraped his chair back and moved over to straddle Arthur. His fingers went to Arthur's hair, tilting his head up so that their lips could fit together, so that they were nuzzling each other's lips, until Merlin dipped his tongue in between Arthur's, and fireworks exploded within Arthur's chest. 

Merlin's tongue slid under Arthur's, wrapped around it, getting Arthur to push and lick at it with his until they were both moaning.

Wanting to feel Merlin as close as possible, Arthur wrapped both of his arms around him, one going round his waist and the other spanning his back to his nape, fiercely, savagely, with all the strength he had. Because this, this was what he wanted and he'd nearly lost Merlin, and his senses were all aglow now and he couldn't help it.

Letting go of his mouth, Merlin kissed his jaw and neck, brushing his lips across his skin until they reached the shell of his ear, sending Arthur's eyes almost crossing from the pleasure, an uncontrollable shiver chasing down to his marrow. 

Merlin grazed kisses on his throat as if he was hungry for Arthur, really desired him, sucking and licking and nudging at Arthur's Adam's apple with his nose.

And then Merlin was at it again, bestowing short, sweet kisses along Arthur's throat, pausing at the pulse point and at its base. He made the nerve endings in Arthur's neck come to life; he made the whole of him come to life.

Holding their torsos together, Arthur started rocking against him, his hips bucking, his cock swelling painfully between his legs until he was practically dry humping Merlin on a chair in an abandoned house somewhere deep in the Russian steppe and he laughed. He laughed because despite everything this couldn't be any better and he didn't want to stop. Ever. 

Yet Merlin must have misread his signals for he pulled back and met his gaze, his own clouded by both doubts and lust. “Tell me if you want me to stop. I've--”

“I don't want you to stop,” Arthur said, smiling at Merlin because he couldn't just refrain. And Merlin was just silly thinking Arthur wasn't mad about him and his hesitation was endearing. “There's nothing I want less.”

Merlin gave a sigh and a hint of smile returned to his lips. The more he looked at Arthur the more that smile grew bolder, cheekier, challenging. This was the Merlin Arthur knew. Before, Merlin had challenged Arthur professionally; now there was more to it than that but the spark of recognition grounded Arthur into thinking there had always been something between them. Something special that led them into that particular dance; that made them orbit around each other. Before it had all been about prodding each other. Now, it had taken this shape. 

Arthur would have considered that in depth but Merlin kissed him again, painting his lower lip with his tongue once more, sucking it wetly into his mouth, lapping at the roof of mouth, biting at his chin. 

To get things going, Arthur reached out to unbutton Merlin's shirt, which he knocked right off his shoulders together with the blanket cocooning him, then his hand snaked between their bodies. He tried to go for Merlin's belt but they were still bucking into each other, breath coming fast, and there was virtually no space for him to do what he wanted. 

He drew back a little so he could speak, losing the blanket draped over his own back. “If we want to do this, we've got to move it.”

Merlin cast a glance at the _dacha_ , spying the bedrooms. “If you're okay doing it on an unmade bed belonging to who knows then I'm in.”

“I'd prefer that to a slightly wonky chair.”

Merlin's eyes sparkled with mischief, he nipped at Arthur’s lips and got up. 

Arthur followed suit, grabbing him by the hips as he pushed him in the right direction. As he went, he undid Merlin's belt and slid it off. It thudded dully but neither of them paid any mind to that. 

Merlin meanwhile was working at Arthur's shirt buttons with his only good hand and making a piss-poor job of it. Arthur chuckled. “This is the only thing there is between me and the cold, Merlin,” he said. “I don't want you to tear it to pieces.”

“Then take it off.”

“As you wish,” Arthur said, finishing Merlin's job and getting rid of his shirt. The room was cold and goose flesh rose on his arms. He gave a shiver that Merlin noticed, for he plastered himself to Arthur's front, sharing his own warmth. Arthur would expose himself to the cold any day if this was the result.

They were so close they couldn't help it; they kissed again; Arthur pressing his tongue deep into Merlin's mouth, tasting him, wanting him so badly it made him shake, made him prolong the kiss until he was so short of breath he could do nothing but draw back. 

And even so he started trailing kisses along Merlin's jaw and neck. And held on to him, his fingers digging into Merlin’s back, not wanting to let go, not wanting to cut this connection short. Because, God, they'd come so close to dying they might not have had this at all. 

It was Merlin that dragged down Arthur's zip, lowered his boxers a tad, and wrapped his fingers around the head of his prick. 

Arthur's mouth fell open. He walked closer into Merlin's arms, burying his gasps in Merlin's shoulder, biting at skin stretched over bone as Merlin thumbed the underside of his cock in a circular motion that made Arthur tingle all over. 

“More. Please.” Arthur mumbled those words against Merlin's skin just as his hips instinctively snapped forwards.

Obeying, Merlin let go of Arthur's cock, pushed Arthur's underwear lower, caressing the swell of his arse in passing as he did so, and got back to touching him.

“Like this?” Merlin asked as he moved his hand up and down, pulling on the upstroke.

Arthur's face went hot. “Yeah, li-- like that.”

He mouthed at Merlin's throat and then at his face, laying haphazard kisses on every scratch or bruise or scrape he could find while Merlin worked him, stroking him firmly, rolling the foreskin back from the head and up over it again until Arthur could have cried in need. 

His breathing was shot; his knees were going to jelly. His heart had sped up so much he could feel it thumping in his neck.

“Enough,” Arthur nearly growled, sweat beading on his forehead. “Or I'm going to come.”

Merlin stepped back and nodded. “A hand with my trousers?” he asked. 

Arthur knew Merlin could manage by himself but he didn't need to be asked twice. He fumbled with the snap and yanked Merlin's boxers down just as Merlin toed off his shoes. 

With a whoosh, Merlin's clothing was gone and Arthur could roam hands over his front and back, grab at his sides, spinning his arms around Merlin to push him down on the bed.

No longer able to wait, Arthur climbed on top of him. Arms braced either side of Merlin, Arthur lowered himself and started kissing Merlin again, Merlin's tongue rolling into his mouth, Arthur's pushing back at it with his. And then Arthur was sucking at the base of Merlin's neck, licking at his collarbones, pressing kisses into Merlin's skin, peppering them across his chest and over his heart.

Merlin moaned and responded by running his hands all over Arthur and then pulling him down so that their bodies fit together one on top of the other, so that Arthur's thighs slid against Merlin's. “Off with those trousers,” Merlin's said, voicing Arthur's next wish. 

He raised himself above Merlin as he pulled down his trousers and underwear, past his knees and past his calves. When they were at ankle level, Arthur gave a kick, and they slipped off. 

Leaning up meanwhile, Merlin grazed his mouth down Arthur's throat. Arthur found himself sobbing at that, positioning himself so their bodies could touch again.

And they did. He sat astride Merlin, their cocks dragging wetly one against the other as they rolled their hips in counterpoint. Fucking against a hip, a thigh, both of their cocks leaking, their breath hitching savagely. Merlin's fingers digging in Arthur's shoulder, Arthur moving his hand down to cup them both, back and forth, back and forth. 

Arthur's mouth found Merlin's, softly at first and then unrestrainedly. He couldn't help their kiss getting messy and deep as he cupped their cocks together, stripped them fast with a few hard tugs. 

As Arthur worked them, Merlin pulled in a breath and his fingers tightened around Arthur's forearms, his grunts low and rhythmic. Those deep and visceral sounds turned Arthur on more than he'd have thought possible after the day they'd had. Growling low in his throat, Arthur drove his cock against Merlin's, his fingers squeezing them both on the down stroke.

He nipped hard at Merlin's lower lip as he lost the kiss, too intent on thrusting hard to rub them together. 

“Arthur,” Merlin rasped, his back bent in an arch of pure beauty. And then Merlin was orgasming, come coating the both of them, warm and sticky and enough to remind Arthur of how intimate this was and how hot Merlin made him. 

Arthur's hips stuttered forwards and he couldn't hold back. He closed his eyes, his mouth went slack as pleasure washed him clean of all thought.

The kiss he and Merlin exchanged before both succumbed to sleep was lazy but sweet, just lips on lips and nothing more.

 

**** 

 

Merlin woke because he felt warm and because he'd retained the memory of being cold for so long that that came across as strange. He opened bleary eyes to find that there were three blankets on top of him and that Arthur was wedged between him and another mound of covers.

“Merry suitably snowy Christmas, Merlin,” Arthur said lightly. 

Merlin didn't think he could complain; he was feeling good for the first time in what seemed like a long time. He growled softly.

“You're purring,” said Arthur, elbow propped on the mattress, sounding sleepy still though his eyes were wide and alert, sparkling with something Merlin couldn't put his finger on.

“No,” Merlin said. “I just made a noise. A perfectly normal, non-cutesy sound. I was having a nice dream.”

Arthur's eyebrow shot up. “Oh, what kind of dream?”

Merlin snorted. “Not that kind of dream. Just something pleasant.”

“Which kind of pleasant?”

Merlin lowered his eyes and moved a few inches away from Arthur. Having wet dreams was far more normal than conjuring up nightly visions of himself being happy, after all. “I was flying the Gulfhawk one of my uncle's rich friends once had stationed at our hangars.”

Even though Merlin had expected Arthur to laugh at Merlin's admission, Arthur did no such thing. His eyes got wide and full of wonder and he started smiling a subtle smile that was half Mona Lisa, half the cat that got the cream. A smile Merlin had no idea what to do with until Arthur said, pleased, “You were dreaming of flying a thirties biplane?”

“It was a beauty I could never have afforded,” Merlin explained. “Something like a...”

But Arthur didn't let him complete the sentence. He got both hands around Merlin’s face and dragged him into a slow kiss. From the first touch of lips, it was good. They slid over his, opened wider over Merlin's mouth, making the kiss deeper. 

Merlin didn’t hold back; he licked into Arthur's open mouth, catching his taste, rubbing against his tongue.

Arthur pulled Merlin to him then, both of them lying on their sides, facing each other, Arthur's knee teased Merlin’s cock into rising. Merlin caught his breath; Arthur moaned and the moan was loud but not loud enough to cover the sound of wooden floorboards creaking.

They stopped, moving apart.

“Is that-”

Arthur put a finger to his mouth to ensure silence. The floorboards groaned again. “Yeah,” he said lowly.

“Maybe it's the owners.”

Arthur's jaw stuck out. “Merlin, this place was vacated some time ago.”

Merlin thought back to the condition the _dacha_ was in. The furniture was still mostly in place as well as some other odds and ends. But they'd got the blankets out of storage, the beds were unmade, and there was nothing that looked edible in the cupboards. There was also no electricity, no water, and no other signs of occupation. This house might have an owner but that owner hadn't set foot in there for quite a long time, that was for sure. 

And if that was true, what were the odds of them showing up today of all days? Slim to none, he concluded. His last hope was... “Maybe it's the police. We did smash the window in.”

“Perhaps,” said Arthur, but his narrowed eyes told another tale. “Or maybe it's one of the killers. I wounded both of them, one very seriously, but who knows what sort of a prod a fat killer pay-cheque is. Or the pilot. We forgot the Sikorsky had a pilot.”

“But would he be up to doing this killer stuff?”

“I fear we're about to find out.”

They both slid out of bed and put on boxers, trousers and shoes. Arthur shrugged haphazardly into his shirt. Merlin's was in the kitchen as was his belt. A sure sign, if the intruder needed any, that they were inside. 

“Where's the gun?” Merlin asked, remembering the weapon they'd lifted from the man who'd almost killed Merlin. They hadn't kept the automatic, not thinking something like this would happen, but they'd retained the handgun.

“In the cupboard.” Arthur said it as if it was a curse. “I didn't think--”

Merlin padded over to Arthur and closed a hand around his arm, short of the elbow. “You couldn't have known. I didn't consider the pilot either.”

“I was in the military, Merlin. I should have made a rough estimate--”

“Your job was flying planes, taking out enemy positions by pushing a button and following squadron leaders' orders, not _this_ ,” Merlin said, emphasising the last word. “This isn't your fault. It's the fault of whichever bastard chose to pull his business deals this way.” 

“You're hot when you're angry,” Arthur said. They were both tamping down on a grin and nodding at each other. This clinched it. They were both mad. 

“So what do we do?”

“We most certainly aren't going out without a fight.”

Merlin tipped his head in assent. He was on board with that one. “We might make it to the back garden,” he said, remembering the house's layout. “And scarper it from there.”

“We need the gun first,” Arthur said, scowling when they both heard another dull sound confirming enemy presence on the premises. 

“Okay then,” Merlin said, “I'll distract the goon from hell, take the gun and shoot him while you prepare our getaway by easing the window open.” 

Merlin closed his fingers around the door, inching it open when Arthur stopped him. “The last time you did that you almost got killed.”

“You too,” Merlin pointed out. The other night Arthur's bruising hadn't been noticeable because it was still fresh, and hard to see with the candlelight, but now his ribcage was a tender, blooming purple. 

“I have the training,” Arthur insisted. “I'd be better than you at that.”

“And I'm fast on my feet, faster than you.” He pinched Arthur's side.

Arthur batted his hand away, bowed his head, thus avoiding Merlin's eyes, but gave a short nod. “All right, go for the gun. But don't try any diversions techniques. Just don't.” He paused for a second to take a big breath of the long suffering kind. “I hope you know how to shoot?”

Merlin gnawed on his lower lip. “Not as such.”

“Oh for the love of God,” Arthur said, but then quickly saw that time was of the essence for he started explaining. “Take the safety off, that's a switch, you'll find it easily enough. The gun we filched is a Beretta. Some find it difficult to operate the safety while keeping their grip steady but you have big hands so no problem. You can bump the safety forward using your thumb knuckle without shifting your grip about. After that just aim and squeeze the trigger back until the thing goes off.”

Merlin had figured the last part by himself. The safety thing was a bit more sketchy but he was sure he could cope. He was bolstering his optimism with lots of positive thinking when the sounds coming from the front of the house increased in magnitude. 

Merlin shushed Arthur by pinning him to the wall. Someone had made it past the porch because Merlin distinctly heard the sound of glass crunching under thick soles. “All right then,” Merlin whispered. “I'll sneak into the kitchen while you run to the back garden,” Merlin said.

Arthur craned his neck towards the sounds, his profile stony, his mouth pinched. Merlin was sure he'd never seen him look more severe before. 

“We're going to make it,” Merlin said. He wasn't convinced that was true, but he wanted to give Arthur hope. 

The grim line of Arthur's mouth dissolved into a fond smile. “You'll fly your thirties biplane yet,” he said, before darting in for a kiss. For a blissful moment Arthur's lips were moving against his, tracing his lower lip, bumping against the upper one. 

Lids lowering, Arthur pushed his tongue in Merlin's mouth but it lasted too briefly because the contact had barely deepened when he pushed Merlin away. “Nothing will happen to you, I promise,” he said, stressing the words as if he could make them true by virtue of enunciation.

Merlin shouldn't have let that move him, but it did. A surge of relief flowed through him as if the thing was already done and they were out of danger. Rationally, he understood what they were facing, but Arthur's promise filled him with confidence, a truer one compared to the emotion he himself had tried to inspire a few seconds before. 

They moved apart and then slinked out the door as silently as they could.

Merlin started down the narrow hallway, his back against the wall as he went, making himself as scarce as possible in case the pilot turned assassin was looking his way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur dart towards the back of the house. Since he couldn't linger there he put Arthur out of his mind and inched forward at a crouch.

Even while sneaking Merlin could see the bulky silhouette of the intruder; he was standing tall in the front room at the mouth of the hallway that led to the bedrooms, a big gun in his hand. He was still wearing a bulky aviation jacket, confirming he was indeed the pilot they'd mistakenly taken out of the equation. His frame was highlighted by the early morning light, his contours marked by a bright halo; he was scary and forbidding enough to send Merlin's heart beat skittering. 

The good thing about his positioning was that, being backlit, the man most probably couldn't see what was going on down the corridor. He was actually peering Merlin's way but hadn't detected him. At this point Merlin was certain that these hitmen had no scruple about firing first so the man would have, if he'd so much as thought he was there.

Thanking his stars that he hadn't been spotted yet, he dropped flat, hoping the intruder still couldn't see him. He held perfectly still on the floor for a moment, crawled forward to cross the stretch of corridor between him and the door arching in front of him and when he was clear of it he sprinted forwards, diving for the kitchen. No resounding shot followed him.

Merlin lost no time; he dashed towards the cupboard, opened it, and grabbed the gun. He'd already turned around when he heard an odd sound like something big rolling on the floor. Merlin's breathing increased. His temples banged. Something was up. Instead of going at a run towards the back of the house, where the window giving onto the garden was, Merlin peered round the corner.

“Shit,” he said to himself, when he saw Arthur standing there, in the front lounge, facing the intruder. Arthur's foot was placed on top of one of the canisters Merlin had seen yesterday in the storeroom and he was holding a lit match aloft. 

The intruder, the killer, was training his gun on him, aiming for his heart. “It took me the whole night to find you, which I did thanks to that so very helpful trail of blood your pal left behind. But find you I did. And now I'll finish off what my colleagues couldn't, namely killing you.”

“I don't think so,” Arthur said, then pointing out the obvious, added, “this is a gas canister. This is a match. I'm ready to set everything on fire.”

“Not if I shoot you first,” the intruder said, his finger now on the trigger. 

“You can't run the risk though,” Arthur said, setting his feet wider apart. “It takes a second for this to light up and for us to go boom. You'd be dead and gaining nothing but an accomplished mission. Don't think you can get paid in hell.”

“Ha,” said the intruder. “The risk's there anyway. I'd rather take a shot or wait for the match to burn out.”

Merlin's palms sweated around the gun. There had to be something he could do to stop Arthur from doing what he was about to do and save him in the bargain. There had to be. He wouldn't walk out of here without Arthur. Not after everything.

“Let my friend walk,” said Arthur. “And I promise you, I will put the match down.”

Merlin thumped his head against the closest wall, squeezing his eyes. “You're not doing this for me. You're not dying for me,” he muttered low to himself.

“You realise I'll catch up with him and kill him anyway don't you?” Arthur's future killer smirked. “He's wounded. You won't be there. He's done for already.”

“He's smart, tough,” said Arthur. “He'll fool you. He'll survive.”

“All right then--” the intruder said, “put down the match and--”

Merlin didn't hesitate. He might not have done anything like this before but he couldn't even consider an alternative. There was none. He rounded the corner, placed himself square mid-corridor, not caring if he'd just presented the widest target possible, stretched out his arm and lifted the gun. 

Squinting, he sighted his enemy along the gun barrel, then squeezed the trigger, aiming for the intruder, any part of him that would down him.

The intruder though had seen him move and he lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger just as Merlin fired. Merlin heard the ricochet while at the same time he saw the intruder crash to the ground.

To be quite honest, Merlin was expecting the pain to bloom any minute now. But when none came he blinked. And then he turned. And saw Arthur stagger forward, holding his shoulder with his left hand, before he too went down.

Merlin dropped the gun and rushed to his side. Arthur's eyes bulged with shock and pain and he was breathing fast. The blood staining his shirt was spreading fast.

Merlin covered the wound with his hand, trying to stem the blood flow even while he cursed. “You're an idiot, a self-sacrificing, stubborn, idiot.”

Arthur's nostrils flared and he licked his lips. “You're okay.”

Merlin had never felt so much like crying as now. He sniffed, knowing very well that he couldn't give into that now, and put all his weight behind his hand so as to act as some sort of human tourniquet. “No, not really.”

Arthur's eyes scanned him for wounds even though his pupils were dilating due to the blood loss, his eyes getting more vacant by the second. In a hoarse voice he said, “Did he get you?”

“No,” Merlin reassured him. “You did. What you did-- Don't do this to me.”

Arthur lifted a bloody hand, going half-blindly for Merlin's face, and traced his thumb down one of his cheekbones and to the edge of his upper lip. “Merlin,” he said.

And then he closed his eyes against the pain.

Still putting pressure on the oozing wound, Merlin shouted, “Arthur!”

 

****

 

Arthur woke to a numb, dazed feeling, the recollection of having been hurt distantly floating through his brain even though he couldn't feel any pain. He felt light and free to be honest. Fuzzy. Far away. As if he had not a care in the world or at least not a one he could remember. 

Everything was blurry at first. So Arthur lay there until his eyes adjusted to the light. Everything around him was clean, white and bright, except for a shower of pink carnations arranged in a vase near a practical bed-stand.

An intravenous drip stand stood by his side, pumping fluids in his veins; a plastic bracelet of an obnoxious shade of green was locked around his wrist. 

Just as Arthur guessed he was in a hospital, and ready to let that pierce the hazy shell he'd been wrapped in to experience panic, three people entered the room. One was clearly a nurse by her garb; the other two people weren't.

Arthur did his best to sit up though that unchained a very unpleasant reaction made up of pain and a wave of nausea. He stilled again but as soon as the sickness abated, he fired a question at the nurse. “Where's Merlin?”

“Merlin?”

“My co-pilot!” Arthur specified, terrible scenarios whirling up in his brain. He remembered being shot and he remembered Merlin talking to him. He'd been okay then. Unless he'd lied about that. But afterwards Arthur had blacked out and if Merlin hadn't properly taken out the killer who had gone after them, then it stood to reason to think...

“Mr Emrys is fine, Mr Pendragon,” said the nurse with such a benign smile Arthur immediately thought she was lying, telling him what he wanted to hear or what they thought was best for him to hear. 

He raised a quizzical eyebrow and said, “I don't believe you. I want to see him.” To match what he'd said he made to turn onto his side so he could get a push out of the bed, but the nurse was there before he could so much as use his elbow to propel himself out of his lying position.

With a hand on his shoulder she pushed him back. Arthur found he had no strength to resist. “Mr Emrys is fine. We re-set his wrist on the same day we accepted you both. He was stitched up. He's now right as rain. Apart from a cast that'll come off in a month. Honestly. No need to worry.”

Arthur hummed. That seemed to be quite a lot of info to give for someone who had just awoken. “Maybe I believe you,” he grumped.

The two other people in the room cleared their throats and for the first time Arthur's attention snapped to them. One of them was a bald man in his late forties with piercing eyes and eloquent eyebrows. The other, a woman, with a less than sober haircut, a thin mouth, and sharp blue eyes. 

The man introduced himself as, “Richard Alator. I'm an engineering inspector with the Air Accidents Investigation Branch, and this is my colleague, Mab Maberley.”

“You're here for Odin,” Arthur said.

“We're here to ask you questions,” said Maberley sharply.

The nurse glared at her and Maberley sobered. “Mr Emrys handed over to us a bag full of documents and signed a testimony. He says you were sabotaged. You can see why we'd have questions.”

“We were,” said Arthur, his fist curling around the flimsy bed sheets he was tucked under.

Alator intervened. “The Russian police and rescue teams found the cockpit voice recorder on the evening of the twenty-fifth, a few hours after you were shot. Just so as to reassure you, we've listened to the recordings, had a look at the engines, and agree with Mr Emrys. Especially, after I surveyed the crash site myself.”

“How long have I been out?” Arthur asked, looking from one AAIB officer to the other.

“Four days,” said Inspector Maberley. “Long enough for us to clear you of any wrong doing. Human error didn't crash XLS three-one-six-zero. And long enough to look into the documents Mr Emrys showed us and to pass the investigation on to the Russian Police and Scotland Yard.”

“So you know who did this then?” Arthur said, thinking back to his dead colleagues and the crashed Cessna. 

“Indeed, we think we do,” said Alator, pacing around, hands in his raincoat pocket. “His real name is Eric Woden, also known as, you'll get the joke, Odin. He's the owner of Aesir Enterprises and a great business rival of Agravaine du Bois.”

“So he had du Bois killed,” Arthur said. “Merlin and I guessed right.”

“We're not the yard, Mr Pendragon,” said Inspector Maberley. “But we can tell you this. Agravaine du Bois had a criminal record too. His actions were less than limpid and all aimed against Woden. Woden isn't a tycoon. He's a dangerous man. He bided his time and struck. That was why Mr du Bois didn't return from his business trip.”

“I see,” said Arthur, his mental picture of what had happened clearer now. It didn't help to come to terms with the deaths of his colleagues but at least he knew what had happened. He had regrets though. If he'd thought to check the Cessna more thoroughly before take-off, if he'd suspected... But as it stood he could only accept that fate sometimes did have the upper hand. A thought struck him. “You said you had a look at the engines. So the Cessna was tampered with.”

Inspector Maberley said. “Oh, it was.”

“Rigged with two micro explosives,” said Alator. “The blast was so reduced it wouldn't have been enough to register until the fire started. And after that...”

“The Cessna was a goner,” Arthur said, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead. “But how did they get at the plane?”

“We're still not the police, Mr Pendragon,” said Alator. “But palms were greased. Mr Ruadan and his daughter have both admitted to disclosing information regarding the flight to a third party.”

“Small things like destination and type of jet Mr du Bois would be using,” said Maberley. “Tiny things, but in the wrong hands it was enough for Odin's men to bribe airport officials into planting those micro explosives.”

“My boss is implicated?” Arthur couldn't believe his ears. Ruadan had been a great pilot and was an outstanding entrepreneur. A man Arthur had called friend. Arthur couldn't understand why he'd take part in something like that even if only to the extent of grassing to the wrong people.

“Yes, he did what he did in return for the money he needed to keep Druid afloat,” said Alator, turning a folding chair around so he could sit on it. That also served to change the subject. “Are you ready to give us your testimony now? The truth would bring closure to the crew’s families.”

Maberley took out a notepad and pen, poised to write.

Arthur nodded, still aghast at what he'd just learned. He'd been working at Druid for four years and had trusted Ruadan. Arthur had told his boss the truth about where his career was, where he was in his life. How he didn't think he would make it without a goal. And Ruadan had given him that goal back, together with a role, a social function he could live with. Accepting what Ruadan had done – and he couldn't believe this of Sefa either – was tough. It almost made him queasy. He just wanted to speak to them and ask why. But he knew he couldn't. Not now. Now he had a statement to make to make sure that the families of those who had died knew everything there was to know and had closure.

It took him the best part of thirty minutes to relate what had happened. He was often asked to stop and clear a point or recount things more linearly but at last they were done, Inspector Maberley capping her pen, Arthur sagging against the thin pillow that came with his hospital bed.

“I trust you'll be there at the trial,” Arthur said and they both signalled that yes they would be there before the nurse chucked them out of his room.

“Visiting hour's almost over anyway,” the nurse winked at Arthur. “I just thought I'd spare you some more stress.”

No sooner had she said that than there was another knock on the door. Arthur braced himself for the return of the AAIB officers but Merlin peeked his head in. “I was told you were awake,” Merlin said.

“Yes, he is as you can see,” said the nurse, “but visiting time's over now. And you'd better--”

“No, please,” said Arthur, “I want to talk to him.”

Merlin pouted at the nurse. She seemed undecided but she puffed out a heavy breath and waved him in.

Merlin looked like he'd been thrashed. He hadn't lost the circles under his eyes or the pallor that had accompanied him on their two-day disaster. But when he was allowed in, his shoulders went up and he smiled. 

The nurse said, “I'm giving you five minutes.”

Merlin nodded and shuffled in, taking the chair Alator had vacated and pushing it closer to Arthur's bed. Arthur was happy with that for he wanted nothing more than to touch him and make sure he was okay; have definitive proof of that. But the nurse was hovering and making him uncomfortable so he wasn't as free to make a fool of himself as he wished to. Merlin sensed some of that because he lowered his gaze and started scratching under his cast.

Arthur couldn't have it that way. He turned to the nurse and asked, “Could you leave us alone for a moment or two?”

She made sure the window was properly closed and let no killer draughts in, then spun around. She must have guessed how much Arthur wanted some alone time with Merlin because her mouth tilted into a smile and she left.

Merlin's eyes flashed to his, and they were dancing now. “I thought, perhaps, that you didn't... That you mightn't… I'm just glad you made it.”

Arthur's hand went to his shoulder. “I just don't know how. I thought--”

“Killer had a fancy mobile,” Merlin said. “I dialled emergency services. More like panicked and then called for help but they came and that's it...”

“But you didn't know where we were,” Arthur said, since things weren't adding up. “How--”

“They were already looking for a downed Cessna. I described the crash site,” Merlin said, lifting a shoulder. “We didn't walk that far away from it. Some eight miles overall. They found us easily.”

“Oh,” Arthur said. “I should've guessed then.”

“Don't beat yourself up,” Merlin told him, leaning forward to pat his hand. “You're a bit shaken. It's normal. I was too.”

“I'm sorry you were,” Arthur said, lowering his eyes. “I--”

“You did the best you could,” said Merlin, eyes going a little watery. “And you couldn't have helped me more. You saved me. You helped with everything”

Arthur thought he was beaming; he was sure the meds had addled his brain somewhat. He'd stopped filtering his expressions. “I did!”

“Way too much,” Merlin said his grip on Arthur's hand became stronger. “I never wanted you to do that for me.”

Arthur tipped his head back against the pillow, meeting Merlin's eyes full on. “I know I was a bit reckless. But I wanted for you to get out of there and nothing else mattered. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It wasn't,” Merlin said, swallowing visibly. “I mean thank you and I get that you're a bit of a hero but, Arthur--”

Arthur shook his head. “No, that's not... That's not why I did it. I know what you think of me. That I like to brag about my past and being brave. But I didn't do it for that. I did it because... because I didn't want to lose you.”

Merlin's lashes swept down. “I don't know how you got this idea into your head that I'd want something like that,” he began heatedly.

Arthur stopped Merlin from babbling own, Arthur's brows lowering, his gaze seeking the middle distance even as his shoulders rose a notch, muscles tensing. He played with the edge of the blanket before saying quickly, “I understand if you don't feel the same. Things changed on us all of a sudden and you didn't like me before. Desperation and--”

Merlin said, “I was saying, I don't know why you thought I could possibly take something like that even remotely in stride. Something like you dying for me. Because I, well, was entirely mistaken. Had a lapse in judgement. There was a colossal misunderstanding. I don't hate you at all.”

And then he caught Arthur by his good shoulder, touching their lips together, the slip slide of his mouth on top of Arthur's giving way to deeper contact, the soft touch of Merlin's tongue. 

Desire twisted through Arthur even through the haze of medication, which he'd thought nothing could penetrate, and curled down into his guts. 

A hand on the side of Merlin's head, Arthur reeled him in to deepen the kiss, to sound Merlin's mouth.

Arthur's chest expanded on a quick breath, his heart picked up speed as the kiss got more involved and then the nurse turned up again, announcing, “Now, you'll have to go,” promptly blushing when she realised what it was she'd interrupted.

Eyes glinting with amusement, Merlin said, “Yes, sorry. I'm going.”

Even so, Arthur clung to his wrist, saying, “Come tomorrow?”

“It's a date,” Merlin said, swooping down for a last, chaste goodbye kiss. 

 

**** 

 

Merlin left Uncle Gaius' office holding the flight plan in his hand. He was going down the stairs to the hangars when he met Arthur jogging up.

“I was looking for you.” Arthur's flashed him a smile that had to mean something other than 'I'm happy to see you', given how large it was. 

“Were you?” Merlin asked. “Glad you missed me.”

Arthur speared a hand through his hair and shifted. “I need you to come with me.”

Merlin really wanted to know what was making Arthur so shifty but couldn't snoop right about now. He held up the chart with the flight plan. “I've got to study this. Flying over to Jersey in the afternoon.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “I know. I rang Gaius and he told me, but I was thinking, I'm free most of today and up till five. So...” Arthur sent him another winning smile. “Come.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said. “I like being very conscientious.”

Arthur took a step up so he was just one step short of Merlin. “You are,” he said. “You're the best pilot I know. It's just--” 

Merlin cocked his head. “Just what?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Arthur tugged him downwards and Merlin overbalanced and nearly fell into his arms. He had to steady himself on Arthur's shoulder to stay upright but didn't mind it one bit when he caught a whiff of his aftershave. “Um,” said Merlin, breathing Arthur in. “I think I can take an hour off.”

Arthur pressed his lips against his. “I was asking for nothing more. Now come.”

Turning them around Arthur led Merlin down the stairs towards the hangars. The door of one was open but that wasn't what surprised Merlin. The plane stationed in front of it was. Blinking several times just to make sure he wasn't having visions, Merlin said, “Is that a Gulfhawk?”

Arthur bit his lower lip, gaze swivelling from the biplane to Merlin. “Uh, yeah.”

Merlin's eyes misted a tad. “How did you even find one?”

“I asked around,” Arthur said. “A friend of a friend who knows a friend knew of someone who'd lend it to me and so here it is.”

Merlin's eyes sharpened. “No, wait, that's a basically a collector's plane. A rarity. Especially if it can still fly.”

“It can still fly.”

“Well, then, considering how much it must be worth – and insured for – I doubt someone would lend it to you out of the goodness of their hearts.”

Arthur rubbed at his temple. “Not the goodness of their hearts, no.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, eyeing Arthur speculatively. “What did you promise to get it here?”

Arthur cleared his throat, passing a hand down his chest. “Nothing special.”

“Arthur.”

Arthur swung round. “I thought flying one of those was your dream. I thought-- I thought it would be nice to celebrate. It's been six months – you and I – and the trial's beginning. Justice will be done. We've come to terms with Sefa and Ruadan and your uncle's not giving us the boot. I thought it would be nice if you could pilot the plane of your dreams in honour of all that.”

Merlin took one of Arthur's hand in his, sweeping his thumb down the knuckles. “It's great. It's... the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. But I really don't want you to sell your soul to get me this.”

Arthur kissed him on the mouth, slow and sweet. “I'm not selling myself. I just agreed to chauffeur a tycoon around a couple of times a month for a few months. Medium haul. Gaius is fine with it as long as I do it on my own time and I'm not cutting on my flying hours for him. So we're all fine. And you get this. And I get to see you all awed.”

“Arthur--” Merlin tried to speak only to be silenced by one more kiss and Arthur saying, “So don't you want to try it?”

Merlin craned his head at the Gulfhawk. For a thirties plane it was in perfect condition, not a dot of rust on it, the paint shiny, the rotors sharp as blades. It called to him like no plane had ever before and Merlin had to admit it, he wanted to fly it like nothing else. “Yes, definitely, I do.”

Arthur tugged him forwards. “Then let's try it since it's sitting here all lonely and sad.”

Merlin snorted. “Planes don't have feelings.”

Even so, Merlin couldn't resist climbing in. With Arthur going for the rear seat, Merlin had the front one, where he also found the needed gear: a B-three jacket, leather cap and goggles. Merlin put on the goggles and cap first, turned to give Arthur a grin and thumbs up sign, swung round again and finally studied the machine under him. 

It was a timeless beauty; the instrument panel had a shiny wooden face; completely old fashioned and odd looking for someone who, like Merlin, was used to modern appliances on a plane. For one there was no altitude indicator. The turn coordinator was a tremulous needle that seemed even less steady than the compass above it. The throttle was a little flimsy-looking lever sporting a finger rest that stuck out of the side of the fuselage. The plane had obviously no radio and no GPS. In spite of all of this, Merlin loved it, and said so, loud and clear.

“I'm glad,” Arthur said. “I knew you would.”

Merlin patted the instrument panel, running questing fingers along it. “Why don't you give the rotor a spin so we can fly this beaut?”

Arthur jumped down, came to stand right in front of the propeller, grabbed a hold of it with both hands and gave it a sharp, powerful spin before climbing back in and putting on his own pair of goggles.

“You ready?” Merlin asked, fastening the belt, and preparing for flight.

“Yeah,” Arthur said, “just remember the tank holds only twenty gallons or so.”

Merlin nodded. He knew he could only have an hour on the Gulfhawk but even this couldn't dispel the excitation painting a mad grin on his face or the butterflies in his stomach. “I know.”

A few minutes later they were airborne. And it was fantastic. Even with its limitations – he had partial visibility and had to crane his head to get a sense of what he was flying into or where the horizon was – the Gulfhawk responded well. And the beauty of it was that he had to rely on his instincts to guide it and not just on gadgetry. It was like flying with your guts. Something closer to how flying was supposed to be: to nature and the challenge of piloting, like in the early days of aviation. There being no cockpit, just a windscreen, he could feel the wind on his face and the power of the elements.

It was, in short, fantastic. He whooped and laughed the better handle he got of the controls. The surer he was, the more daring he became. And then he grinned like a loon and said or rather shouted over the wind, “You know this thing has a radial engine, don't you?”

He couldn't see what face Arthur was pulling but he heard him say, “Go ahead and fly it upside down if you want it, Red Baron.”

And Merlin wanted to. An eye on the fuel gauge so they wouldn't get into a stall, Merlin led them into the manoeuvre. And roared and laughed and shouted over the engine noise, “This is a dream.”

And it was. It was Merlin's childhood dream come true. The thing he'd always wished he could do when he visited Uncle Gaius up in the North, seeing planes taxing along the airstrip his uncle owned, hoping that one day he would be the one to do it, fly into the big blue. Except this time it was different; his heart was beating hard in his chest, he couldn't take the grin off his face, and he felt as if he could.... Touch the sky. As if this was it and there was nothing better than this. Being up here, defying gravity, the wind lashing his face. Merlin had never felt so alive. The best thing was that Arthur was there to share this with him.

He flew the plane round and round, never wanting this experience to end, until, with the fuel gauge signalling they had only half the petrol they'd started with, Arthur said, “Land it.”

“What?” Merlin yelled, turning his head to hear better.

“Land it.”

“What?” said Merlin. “Here? Now. Over the Highlands?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “Always wanted to have sex in the wild.”

Merlin didn't let himself be asked twice. He landed the Gulfhawk in the middle of a heather field and killed the engines. 

Before jumping out, Arthur rooted a picnic bag and blanket from the spot he'd hidden them in at his feet, then he got down, Merlin after him. “You planned this, didn't you?”

Arthur managed to look sheepish as he spread the sheet and settled the bag next to it. “A little,” Arthur said. “I thought it would be...”

“Romantic?” Merlin teased. 

“Impressive,” Arthur said, blinking fast, his hands going to his hips in a show of indignation.

“It is impressive,” Merlin said. “And touching. Now come here.”

Arthur suffered a moment of hesitation during which he looked at anything but Merlin but then Merlin opened his arms and Arthur walked into them. Merlin cradled Arthur's face and put a series of butterfly kisses on his mouth. 

When Arthur's eyes twinkled Merlin knew he'd been forgiven his stab at teasing Arthur. 

He was even more certain when Arthur kissed him back or when his mouth started moving in fevered caresses over his jaw and throat. Merlin couldn't say he found this amiss. On the contrary, he liked it so much he made a pleased noise in his throat and pushed Arthur down so he laid spread on top of the blanket he'd been so conscientious as to bring. 

With Arthur there Merlin could only move on top of him and fit their mouths together for more kissing. 

These were tangled kisses that made Merlin want to never stop, though he knew he would have to if they wanted to breathe. And when he really had to stop, Merlin didn't let go of Arthur, but rather scraped his teeth across Arthur's throat and under his chin, where his flesh yielded a little more, until he was pressing his mouth even lower, mouthing and nuzzling with half parted lips.

When he got to the spot that Arthur liked best, Arthur drove his hands through Merlin's hair and groaned something that sounded a little bit like Merlin's name. “I knew you'd love it,” Merlin said, mouth grazing Arthur's neck, and then Arthur was clearly saying his name and adding, “Get on with it.”

Well, that was less poetic.

When Merlin found his attentions would be limited by the presence of Arthur's pullover, he drew back, tugged on it, and said, “Help.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but he complied very swiftly, baring his torso and winking at him, probably preening the tiniest bit. Merlin bit back a chuckle and disposed of his jacket and uniform shirt. 

And then it was Arthur's turn to grow impatient for he hooked a hand round Merlin's neck and pitched him forward. Merlin went without resistance, crawling forward, pushing his tongue into Arthur's mouth, sliding it against Arthur's. Their breathing grew louder between them and Arthur's hand snaked down; he put them on Merlin's hips, rubbing circles. “Merlin--”

Merlin was too busy bruising kisses on Arthur's mouth and throat, over his bullet wound scar, laving his tongue over Arthur’s collarbone and then across his chest, to be very coherent. He peppered wet kisses down the sweep of Arthur's belly down to his pubic bone, dragging his mouth there to raise hitched sounds out of Arthur's throat.

“Merlin, ha--”

Arthur's grip on his ribs started hurting a bit and that was a message Merlin couldn't fail to catch. 

He raised his head, meeting Arthur's darkened gaze. “Too many layers still,” Arthur said and even though Merlin liked losing himself in touching Arthur and learning about the minutiae of his body, he couldn't say that he didn't agree or that he didn't want as much as possible, as soon as possible. There was no other choice where Arthur was concerned. 

Toeing his shoes off, Merlin went for his belt, undoing it just as Arthur reached for his trousers, and opened and slipped them off him. As Arthur stripped the rest of his own clothes off, Merlin shucked off his socks and then they both met in the middle, curling together in a jumble of legs, Arthur skittering his hands all over him -- his chest, his shoulders, the planes of his back, Merlin between Arthur's legs, bending his head to touch his mouth to every stretch of uncovered skin he could get at.

His mouth and hands skimmed everywhere, raising sobs from Arthur, until he pressed his lips to his inner thigh, nosing, kissing, taking one of Arthur's balls in his mouth. 

Arthur's hands went to his shoulders, gripping tight. “God, you're good at that.”

Merlin liked the praise; it made the blood rise to flush his skin and his pulse race that fraction faster. It excited him and prodded him to do his best. He shifted his attention, elsewhere, taking Arthur in his mouth, sucking slowly.

Arthur's hips bucked; the sounds coming from him got needy, so Merlin didn't stop. Instead he worked him in more deeply, trying not to choke as Arthur instinctively rocked his hips forwards, driving himself down Merlin’s tightening throat. Merlin only backed off a bit when he got tears in his eyes but he wouldn't stop or let go because Arthur was reacting beautifully, coming undone for him as he started to quiver and gently thrust. 

So Merlin brought one of his hands to bear, timing the strokes of his mouth with those of his palm. And all the while he wetly suckled, sometimes just the tip, sometimes more, pressing his tongue against the underside of Arthur's cock, dipping his tongue in the slit, loving the feel and taste of Arthur so much that he almost didn't notice the signs, the ones he'd come to know so well, until Arthur's hips snapped sharply forwards and he was shouting at Merlin to stop, tearing at his hair because he wanted 'more' and 'Merlin' and 'more'.

It wasn't like Merlin could deny him or himself any longer. He backed off. “Condom?”

“My trousers,” Arthur said, his voice wrecked. 

Merlin retrieved a strip foil of condoms and one packet of lube from the depths of Arthur's back pocket, and then he proceeded to prep Arthur, slipping in a lubed finger, and then a second, feeling Arthur's body as it loosened progressively to his touch and curled around him in response, Arthur's palm opening and closing around Merlin's forearm. 

“Enough,” Arthur said and when Merlin looked up Arthur had his head turned to the side, his eyes closed. A strip of colour bridged his nose and he was worrying his lower lip even as he stopped bearing down on Merlin's fingers. 

Arthur held himself semi rigid, one of his hands squeezing at his cock so as not to come, only his chest rising and falling with frenzied abandon. “Enough,” he said again, and, “Merlin, do it, come on. Want to come with you.”

Merlin nodded, rolling on the condom he somehow succeeded in extracting from its foil. And then he moulded his body against Arthur, blindly guiding his cock inside him. Arthur's arms moved tightly about his waist as Merlin eased in, head ducked to watch himself penetrating Arthur, until he lost interest in that in favour of watching Arthur's face. 

Because Arthur... 

Arthur had a way of taking him in as if Merlin meant something; every time they did this, whichever position they wound up in, his gaze was always soft and wonder-filled and a little lost. Arthur's gaze during sex never failed to tear Merlin up and put him back together again. 

It was a bit incomparable. Sex with Arthur was good but this... This was something else too.

“Arthur,” Merlin said brokenly, before lowering his mouth to his, kissing as his body started figuring out a pace, Arthur's tongue in his mouth, his hands everywhere, a brand and a spur and everything Merlin wanted. 

As he slowly moved himself in and out of Arthur, Arthur cradled him. His grip was strong; his legs like a vice around Merlin's hips and that never stopped exciting Merlin a little bit more, turning him on like nothing else on earth. How wiry and powerful Arthur was. How he let Merlin take him with abandon.

“Hey,” said Arthur, his lips against his, his hands clinging tightly to Merlin's waist, his breath rasping in his ear. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Merlin said, stupidly, incoherently, smiling and kissing and smiling like the besotted idiot he probably looked like.

Nature taking over, Merlin took to rocking his hips forwards, gently at first, then more powerfully, his face in the side of Arthur's neck, Arthur's body matching the rhythm of his thrusts, catching him when it seemed like Merlin would falter and drown in him. 

Arthur grunted and groaned, one of his hands going to his cock as he started beating off.

Merlin couldn't stay put together for long. Not with the noises Arthur was making, his raspy, “Merlin” and the sound of flesh on flesh. He thrust faster, pumping his hips, doing so without rhythm.

Tingles rose up Merlin's spine, his control snapped, his tempo going to hell, and heat rose fast within him, thoughts scattering. He raised his head in surprise, buried himself deep inside Arthur, and let his orgasm flow within him, even as he felt Arthur spill between their bodies or as he heard the quite exhalation that announced his climax.

Merlin held himself perfectly still as his own body convulsed, as he shuddered against Arthur's chest.

He slumped on top of Arthur, almost completely out of it, until he felt Arthur comb through his hair. He sneaked a peek at Arthur's face.

Arthur was smiling stupidly up at him, sweat still beaded on his forehead, his cheeks still delightfully pink. “I'm a genius,” he said. “I should kidnap you more often.”

“Why?” said Merlin. “I'm always around; it's not as if, you know, we don't...”

Arthur tucked Merlin's fringe back, absent-minded, smile still satisfied and silly. “Because we get this...”

“Scenic sex?” Merlin asked, looking around at the blooming heather field, at the blue sky and at the hint of steely grey mountains beyond. 

“No,” said Arthur. He shook his head, rolling Merlin off but then turning on his side so they could face each other. “Normal time together...”

“We still get plenty,” Merlin said. They didn't cohabit but short of that they were so often together they might as well.

“Yeah, but...” Arthur's scowled a bit, clearly gathering his thoughts, his hand still absently stroking Merlin's side and raising pretty pleasant shivers. “But we started off on an odd note, friends betraying us, death and destruction and...”

Merlin silenced Arthur with a kiss. “We're good,” he said. “I'm not with you as a reaction to that. It wouldn't have lasted beyond a night if it was like that. I know my mind. And I'm pretty sure you know yours... so... So far so good.”

Arthur nipped at his lip, nibbled at his face, mouth open, exhaling against him. “I just wanted... Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Merlin grinned. “We're so good together I doubt we can do better.”

Arthur's eyebrows rose and his eyes went large as a consequence; he looked as happy as a kid in a sweet shop. Well, until he waggled those same eyebrows that had risen in surprise and he said, “I bet we can do better.”

And then they kissed and kissed and kissed.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Amphighoury was so kind as to link me to this:this, which are cockpit warnings for a Cessna XLS, the plane Arthur and Merlin pilot and then crash. I thought it was super informative.


End file.
